He Loves Me

 That God should love me is more wonderful 
Than that I so imperfectly love him. 
My reason is mortality, and dim 
Senses; his--oh, insupportable-- 
Is that he sees me. Even when I pull 
Dark thoughts about my head, each vein and limb 
Delights him, though remembrance in him, grim 
With my worst crimes, should prove me horrible. 

And he has terrors that he can release. 
But when he looks he loves me; which is why 
I wonder; and my wonder must increase 
Till more of it shall slay me. Yet I live, 
I live; and he has never ceased to give 
This glance at me that sweetens the whole sky.

Form: Italian Sonnet

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