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 )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
Percy Bysshe Shelley
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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