Not for my skilless hand that fond deceit He knew, whose pious heart kindled to paint On high cathedral walls a deathless saint, And for her face and form find beauty meet. Ah, what face can his brush, bewitched, repeat, Save hers for whom his temples throb and faint? So kneeling ages make their holy plaint In lowly worship at his mistress' feet. No, my poor love must run an earthly pace, Nor borrow adoration from a shrine To light thy steps down an immortal way. Yet listen, for my bosom holds thy face! It would be holy for such love as thine, And deathless are the hues its walls display. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STARLIGHT NIGHT by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS SNAKE by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE THE UNPARDONABLE SIN by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY THE BROOKSIDE by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES LEANDER DROWNED by PHILIP AYRES THE WANDERING JEW by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER |