The Inviolate
— Leave Is Sought, Never Usurped—
He'd meant to heed the sermon, yet her air
unwove his reason from its sacred thread;
whilst Love, pronounced as heaven's sovereign prayer,
burnt through his senses till the words lay dead.
Her aureate presence held his gaze enthrall'd;
the chalk hung mute beneath her lifted hand;
each precept solemnly from heaven call'd
fell like white cinders on enchanted sand.
“Stand forth.” Beyond the hallow'd door he came,
ear-grasp'd, whilst all his wayward senses swam;
the bell released him from his chastening shame—
then meek before the threshold: “May I come in, ma’am?”
For love that knows its longing dare not claim,
kneels at the door—and perishes unnamed.
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