Beauty for My Ashes
Your beauty for my ashes, like God's grace,
redeems the time which the locusts have eaten;
and feeds the heavens which angels embrace,
to help the vanquished that the world has beaten.
O, Rose! Your face is radiant in form.
Your light shines strong like the raw, yellow sun;
and your halo, like an electric storm,
lights up all though your heart's meant just for one.
But Sappho, the Tenth Muse, pales before you.
Unlike your fame, her great renown lacks force;
and more than hers, your echoes chant anew:
and to poets, you're a golden resource.
Should doubt exist, let this line put to rest:
of all Ten Muses, you are the brightest!
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