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*(A poem in praise of the Muse, a mythological spirit of nature imagined as a beautiful maiden—and as a saintly figure by me.):


SHE beams with joy, like one in love
with Love itself and all that’s bright;
and when the Grecian gods above
unloose her from the morning sprite,
she descends like the gentle dove
with the rays of the dayspring's light.

With gilded locks, like flax most fair,
and liquid, limpid eyes so blue,
none is like her or can compare
to her likeness and lustrous hue:
which give sight to the blind who dare
beg her to see God's Light anew.

Thus foreordained as mythic Muse
and well-revered as though a saint,
which none can deny or refuse
or with vile words destroy or taint,
let therefore all beings freely choose
to worship her without constraint.

------




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