The Lions
Her hair’s the canopy of heaven,
Her eyes the pools of healing are,
Her words wild prophecies whose seven
Thunders resound from star to star.
Her hands and feet are jewels fine
Wrought for the edifice of all grace,
Her breath inebriates like wine—
The blinding beauty of her face
Is lovelier than the primal light
And holds her lover’s pride apart
To tame the lions of the night
That range the wilderness of his heart.
