I.
"Impiety!" they scream. Impiety!
Because I sent a fly to shine beside her!
Was it not God that made the fly a jewel?
What would they have me paint to honor her?—
the great laps of their mothers? I pray delight.
I pray the adorations I have learned,
setting before her a sufficient place
between the world and what we love—not objects
but the presence of the object in her look.
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