SUPER OMNES SPECIOSA.

Is any face that I have seen— Some perfect type of girlhood’s face: Some nun’s, soul-radiant, full of grace— Like thine, my beautiful, my Queen? Of all the eyes have paused on mine— And these have met some wondrous eyes; So large and deep, so chaste and wise— Have any faintly imaged thine? The chisel with the brush has vied, Till each seems victor in its turn: And love is ever quick to learn, Nor throws the proffered page aside: Yet few the glimpses it has caught, For thou transcendest all that art Can show thee—even to the heart Most skilled to read the poet’s thought. That thought can pierce its native sky Beyond the artist’s starry guess: But all that it may dare express, Is through the worship of a sigh. And this thou art, a sigh of love— Love that created as it sighed; And shaped thee forth a peerless bride Dowered for the spousals of the Dove. To set the music of thy face To earthly measure, were to give Th’ informing soul, and make it live As there—God’s uttermost of grace.