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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet XXV
Work rating: Low

Oh, miracle of love! That death, which seems
 So hard a master when he holds his prize,
 Whom no cajoleries, nor stratagems
 Of beauty`s power, nor wisdom`s sophistries,
 E`er turned aside from his appointed way,
 But falcon--like, who with relentless foot
 And pinions spread above his captured prey,
 Holds his high way in heaven absolute,
 Nor heeds our questionings: that this same death
 Should have grown soft and yielded to love`s tears,
 And drawn his talons from their fleshly sheath,
 And spared awhile his harvest of the years!
 Oh, miracle in sooth renowned above
 All other wonders of miraculous love!
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