(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.