Sonnet to the VirginMother! whose virgin bosom was uncrostWith the least shade of thought to sin allied; Woman! above all women glorified, Our tainted nature's solitary boast; Purer than foam on central ocean tost; Brighter than eastern skies at day break strewn With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon Before her wane begins on heaven's blue coast; Thy image falls to earth. Yet some, I ween, Not unforgiven the suppliant knee might bend, As to a visible Power, in which did blend, All that was mixed and reconciled in Thee Of mother's love with maiden purity, Of high with love, celestial with terrene! William Wordsworth ( 1770 - 1850) 
|
|
