One of the delights of serving the St. Blogs community is that from time to time, I get very special little gifts. In this case, I was given permission to share the gift with the community and it is truly tremendous. Please express your appreciation to this truly talented poet in the comments box below. And my most Sincere thanks to Father Woolley.
O lover, pierced with sorrow, crowned with shame,
deign here to be consoled, adored, caressed.
Hide here thy face, a living signet pressed
to willing wax; and I'll, soft, whispering, claim
thee, veiled, my cherished own. Here slake thy flam-
ing thirst, thy wounded head here, cradled, rest,
safe on the flowery meadows of my breast.
Listen -- my heart beats nothing but thy name.
Here, in this ardent ground, flower forth thy mys-
teries of crown, cross, chalice, thou blest mart-
yrs' prince, and fire-wine-apple-incense kiss-
es shower on brow, throat, breast till thou, I part-
less die, rest, rise and dowered with boundless bliss
blooms, springs in both our breasts one rose, one heart.
Father Deacon John Woolley
There is much too much magnificent about this poem to even begin to delineate. The language is rich (much like my beloved Seventheenth Century--about which you have been spared in recent months), antique, and yet not incomprehensible, but somehow more tangible that much of our modern jabber. There is an intense enjambment (flow from one line to the next without stopping) that creates a dynamic tension of the poem. And what can one say as to the sentiment ultimately expressed. I do not know Father personally, but this certainly sounds like the fruit of spending much time with the Lord.
At any rate, my most sincere thanks, and my prayers that whatever gave rise to this magnificent poem continues to grow and bring the author ever closer to the God so supremely invoked here.