He is the gardener I'm sure of it come to pluck weeds from the lily-beds Mary, he whispers, Mary my being quakes with recognition Touch me not The tactile, then, no more may buttress faith What strange and joyful release to love him in the Spirit! Should not all Paradise be singing at this moment? Thomas, who dares not hope, is ...
The Newborn - George de la Tour So it was all for this Stark skies Empty world clinging taste of gall The wedding drained of wine paralysis and Lazarus a mortal after all Woman, behold your son he said Oh! piercing! sword of Simeon's sight How shall I contain it? How beget the cradled babe again ...
From Eden to Gethsemane the road is rugged, passing through wilderness, with switchbacks and ravines, concealing warmongers; there, many a blighted vine and shrivelled artichoke; wild honey and locusts and manna from heaven, are all that sustain, when the eyes are uplifted and the mouth ...
James Tissot We come flocking, through the gates, the press of us, straggling, swarming, forming the configurations of some transcendental dance, wired for celebration, the waters of Babylon long forgotten, and the weeping, too. We come bearing the imprint of our drawn and driven history, seeking embodiment, ...
Annunciation (Caravaggio) There she goes again, they say, stirring the dust, her sandals treading air, as if she were about to break into some mystic dance, the steps ordained. There she goes to the spring, bearing an empty vessel that befits the youthful curve of her shoulder, as if ...
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