What shall we offer her whose candid eyes
Are filled with heaven? Those who man call wise
Have still no gift, but only kneel to her
Who bears God’s message, and His messenger.
Not hers the argent beauty that upon
A night fired Ilium, nor this the grace
Theocritus once sang, in that far dawn
Before God’s mercy had unveiled her face.
Yet we are blind with beauty — here is one
who is a light between us and the sun.