The Ivory Tower
My love of her was but a dream,
a reflection, a sorry fake
of she I love, of all I dream,
the loveliest, who crushed the snake.
A mother fair, the purest spouse,
temple of he whose death has brought
such sweet relief, the dead has roused,
eternal life our savior wrought!
His mother fair, my Lady wise,
her rosy cheeks, radiant glow!
She is my help, she is my prize,
the Morning Star, Mystical Rose!
Her knight I am, her lowly serf.
My bended knee is on the turf.
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Comments about this poem (The Ivory Tower by Alexander Porrello )
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