sw00799sem-7.FeastofSaintAgnes

Seminary



 On the Feast of Saint Agnes


The dawn arose enrobed in ruby-red;
Above the winter scene her mantle spread.
Relentless as undaunted forest flames
This glowing garb of dawn exclaims
Her youthful joy more racily
Today than when it first burned readily
As if to char that purity of day
Which stood with uncontested sway
O'er frozen mounds of clayey earth
That yet lay hard beneath that hearth
Of awing love, the mystic Orient
Wherein a new Aurora wisely spent
Herself, while frozen earth and barren trees
And heavy clouds looked on.  From there,
inanimates of dead despair,
No praising but their stoic presence there.
Alone, this humble dawn did dare arise
To day which never end espies,
But for the sun which was her life
And came to strengthen her in strife
Of nature born as would consume itself,
Like giant fires that soon become an elf
Of light.  So, strong, she stood amid the blaze
Ascending round; her heart did raise,
Another dawn, partaking full
Of that same heat which would to heaven pull
Both dawn and heart.  Appearing then apart,
Although warm glowed the Father's art
To prove it otherwise, this dawn 
Proceeding heavenward was drawn
By Yahweh's stalwart sun to strive to melt
The ice within the ground but found it felt
No heat, whatever its intensity,
But rather that proximity
Of such resplendent beauty froze
The more the frozen earth, for Satan chose
To harden it with his Dantean berg.
The barren trees, their web-like hands
Outstretched to break the rolling lands'
Horizons, bent aback the flow
Of rufous hues on dawning's robe to show
Indignant hate and pride that did abide
Within these knotty nets wherein would hide
Decay.  The heavy clouds hung high
As yet, reflecting, 'cross the sky
A glory that could never die, though death
They willed this dawn to meet.  Her final breath
She'd soon complete when down would run
Those leopard clouds, eclipse her Sun
Towards whom she fled, and watch dawn die
Till time no more its rhythm could sustain
And all was naught but that which felt of pain.
Enduring all, Saint Agnes, all did gain.


                                    Jan. 20, 1962     Brian Salchert, N.S.J.




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Brian A. J. Salchert