Volume > Issue > Sonnet III

Sonnet III

A POEM

By Marjorie Williams | December 1983

O Lord, what notion of hyperbole.

What willed and wild imagining was born

When Adam, hearing, woke in Eden’s morn?

For neither art Thou this, but this is Thee,

A spirit, soul, and body: one from three;

Though some in mortal bones see grief and scorn

I see the brittle frame You did adorn

With breath, You quickened mortal trinity;

The mirror of our making might be dark

But the image of the mystery

You told Reflects the light of knowledge in Your name

Enkindled in this self, Your infant spark;

For thus Your Word is given body’s mold

And body’s bones, like wood, to feed the flame.

To Phoebe*

Phoebe,

Gentle handmaid

Of us all,

Who assisted Paul

And others

Of the early church,

…

Envy of the Empty Air

Of what do they dream

— the white-robed monks?

while we

with half-shaped forms

from…

The Chic and the Dead

Rocks that block the mouths of tombs

Give sermons of great gravity

On the benefits…