(a trifle)
Being a husband is a holy thing indeed. Would God that every word that does proceed Out of my mouth did not come home But on its shield, having lived and died In some great task to serve her need. Would God I knew more of this mystery. It seems repeated everywhere. The sun and moon are married, and the sphere Of water with the sphere of air. You married us, your Church. And thus You, you alone can teach Us what a husband is. We know the shape He takes, rood-wise while heaven is agape, Crowned with the brambles from a rose he picked To give his lover, and his very death a prayer. But you and you alone can help us imitate That shape our shoulders fear to make, The shape which breaks us into wingspan, while Love finally finds a place in us to sit.


beautiful.
The chills this gives me are violent. What a prayer. Well done.