Classic Poem

Is it in grace maternal she excels
Only, or sumptuous womanhood mature,
This Lady of sultana-like coiffure?
Nay, her dark eyes are thoughts' divinest wells;
Nay, on her lips the lilies' perfume dwells,
The seal of the angel: doth it not endure
Immortally here, impressed on none less pure
Than, in her arms, the Child-Emmanuel's?

See, not less tender, less to be adored,
This other Mary; child-eyes wonder-wide
At her Maternity, the mystic Bride,
And Mother, and meek Handmaid of the Lord.

Murillo's Peasant Girl is strangely fair
By that superb Madonna of the Chair.