Reading about the Red-haired
Priest in the British Library
The lamplight’s fall across each chord-like tress,
The phrase-like forehead and the eyebrows (straight)
Perhaps are not that different from the stress,
Though gentle, from the candle light in late
Night composition Antonio might
Have known. This blond young man bends neck and mind
To scribbling task, a scholar’s pale delight,
As meaningless as notes looked at by blind
Eyes—not nearly as beautiful as his,
Melodiously green. His lip-pink mouth
So English in its sweetness, nearness, is
Removed far, far from midnights of the south.
Vivaldi could have used this man’s pale skin
To cause a rush of music to thwart sin.