On Juliet's Watch

Were there of night sufficiency to hold its chambers shielded from all predators of mind that thrust into those walls (as she will thrust into her own) with reasoned words, though she would stay them with a love transcending seasoned swords until, invading her last sanctuary with larksong, day asserts its cruelty and moonlight, vanquished, vanishes— then Romeo would live, and lovers lose forever that they gained on Juliet's watch. Then what of tragedy would mold an intellect, would steal from history's raw fire and feed compassion...take desire and form a noble sacrifice? Could we have known the power of hopeless tears to change diversion into art....to touch in our humanity a flow of the divine? I tend to think a night presaged effulgent day on Juliet's watch. Had we not heard her laughter, watched her weep, what would become of us? Had not we stood around that wooden stage 400 years ago and felt within a martyrdom that only saints and prophets knew would we too, laugh and cry and treasure that within our hearts? Perhaps. I think, though, not so much as we do now, because of what we saw on Juliet's watch. ~