A lily-girl, not made for this world’s
pain,
With brown, soft hair close braided by her
ears,
And longing eyes half veiled by slumberous
tears
Like bluest water seen through mists of
rain:
Pale cheeks whereon no love hath left its
stain,
Red underlip drawn in for fear of love,
And white throat, whiter than the silvered
dove,
Through whose wan marble creeps one purple
vein.
Yet, though my lips shall praise her without
cease,
Even to kiss her feet I am not bold,
Being o’ershadowed by the wings of awe,
Like Dante, when he stood with Beatrice
Beneath the flaming Lion’s breast, and saw
The seventh Crystal, and the Stair of Gold.
--Oscar Wilde, Madonna Mia
We honor Mary during the month of May...
Image source: Alphonse Mucha, Madonna of the Lilies (1905)
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