Old Cathedral
A POEM
This granite faith was pressed against the sky
And, wonder, stood alone;
The truth of God translated for the eye,
A massive, silent prayer in stone.
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Pietà
“Does the darkness cradle thee Than mine arms more tenderly?”
— Willa Cather
Processional (upon seeing Dürer’s woodcut of Roswitha)
By Dürer’s hand, I saw her kneeling down
Before the Emperor: Roswitha — she
Who…
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