Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet Xxv

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!