Male Harmony Makes Heaven
How holy is the true light when it falls
Across his head, his polished golden strands
Like golden angel hair. Their gloss recalls
The Christmas trees of childhood as he stands
There singing in the dark carved wood of choir
And stalls among his hum drum fellows. They
Blah along as backdrops to the fire
Of beauty that his brow and face display.
True music is as holy as his eyes
In blueness there beneath the sweeping blond
Above his forehead. There is no surprise
In this reverberating chord. They respond
Both, each to each, like seraphim who fly
Above this man where blond ones chime on high.
Brightest and Purest
As holy as the true light passing through
The gold transparency of heaven’s streets,
As holy as the true light, always blue
And clear, the beauty of the sacred meets
Not only in his eyes but in his face.
He sings beneath the stained glass window light
Which makes him even more like angels’grace.
In fact he seems much more like wings in flight
When singing through his strong archangel’s throat.
He stares ineffably as though he sees
The New Jerusalem. It makes the note
That pierces us. The choir of heaven agrees.
..Nobility of head below blond hair
….Is dreamier than Jacob’s yellow stair.
Jacob’s Ladder, William Blake, ~WikiArt