This prose is surely not mine
And only a title will I give;
But those who know it know its depths
And the depths it shall redeem.
And when the shaves of pure light
Dance in her clear eyes,
I see my angel for the first time,
Know my purpose, feel my birth,
Hear, at first faintly, then distinctly,
The sweet strains of our union,
Our love heats up the cold universe,
And gives my tired, desperate hope a
Reason and season to be revealed,
We, purified by our kisses,
Are eternally healed.
– ‘Thomas More’ in “The Saint”