A BOTTICELLI MADONNA

Behold! the Tabernacle of God's Will This woman's form enshrineth. What is this, More glorious than all our age-long bliss, Which shines within the shadow of her sill? How shall we lift this strangeness which doth fill Her human heart to breaking,—we who miss In our immortal joy, the enlight'ning kiss Of sorrow's bitter lips whence comforts thrill? How shall we sing to her of joys to come, To her who bears upon her breast the sum Of death's dread gloom and heaven's undying light? Lean close, ah, close, about her from above,— Behold upon the mildness of her love Enthroned the terrors of His Holy Might!