The Purgatory of Love
“O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek.”
Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, II:ii.
You sat before me
As we talked; I glanced at you
And noticed your form
Head to foot and in-between,
And I thought: What perfection!
I am elderly,
Sixty-nine years behind me,
But as I reflect
On you sitting before me,
I realize a strange new truth:
In all of my life
I doubt I’ve seen anyone
Who so delights me,
Who arouses awe in me
The way your whole being does.
I love your body,
Your mind, soul—your everything;
Your voice is music,
Your playfulness soars my heart;
Even your tail delights me.
Éros strikes hard
At the heart of this old man,
Uninvitedly.
I did not summon éros
From heaven nor from the depths.
You do not know me,
Unaware of your effects
On a mere stranger--
My Beatrice come late--
Beauty’s living enfleshment.
Love overtook me,
And split my stone heart open:
When I behold you,
I am torn between heaven
And hell, between God and self.
That claim sounds extreme:
I’m torn between my desire
For you, and knowing
That you are not mine to have,
Nor mine to hold—no, never.
Agony to me,
Unquenchable agony,
To see and to desire
One whom I may never touch,
Nor kiss, nor firmly embrace.
Unfulfilled desire,
Unfulfillable desire,
Until beyond death,
Bodies gone, now mind loves mind--
But what pleasures never known!
Éros is not hell,
It is divine mania,
A powerful gift
To guide by reason’s restraint,
Or it drags one down to hell.
I am being purged
By love’s intoxication:
Desire forced to yield
To what is noble and right,
Not to lust’s hot-burning hell.
You are not heaven
To me, but purgatory;
In yourself, goodness,
Beauty in body and deeds,
But torture to my desires.
I’m Odysseus
Strapped to the ship’s mast to hear
The Sirens’ calling;
I see your shape, but can’t touch;
I tremble in awe, and weep.
The worship I give,
The sacrifice I offer,
Is to refrain from lust,
And seek all that’s good for you
Now and in eternity.
I may not adore
Your eyes and lips and body;
But I’ll adore you
By imitating your love--
Fervent, free, chaste, self-giving.
And who knows, perhaps
One day I’ll see you somewhere,
Ordinary you,
After Éros had his way,
And then suddenly took flight.
Still I will love you--
The one whom éros revealed
And then coaxed me
To choose truly to love you
Without bodily delights.
—Wm. Paul McKane
8 February 2020
That I might touch that cheek.”
Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, II:ii.
You sat before me
As we talked; I glanced at you
And noticed your form
Head to foot and in-between,
And I thought: What perfection!
I am elderly,
Sixty-nine years behind me,
But as I reflect
On you sitting before me,
I realize a strange new truth:
In all of my life
I doubt I’ve seen anyone
Who so delights me,
Who arouses awe in me
The way your whole being does.
I love your body,
Your mind, soul—your everything;
Your voice is music,
Your playfulness soars my heart;
Even your tail delights me.
Éros strikes hard
At the heart of this old man,
Uninvitedly.
I did not summon éros
From heaven nor from the depths.
You do not know me,
Unaware of your effects
On a mere stranger--
My Beatrice come late--
Beauty’s living enfleshment.
Love overtook me,
And split my stone heart open:
When I behold you,
I am torn between heaven
And hell, between God and self.
That claim sounds extreme:
I’m torn between my desire
For you, and knowing
That you are not mine to have,
Nor mine to hold—no, never.
Agony to me,
Unquenchable agony,
To see and to desire
One whom I may never touch,
Nor kiss, nor firmly embrace.
Unfulfilled desire,
Unfulfillable desire,
Until beyond death,
Bodies gone, now mind loves mind--
But what pleasures never known!
Éros is not hell,
It is divine mania,
A powerful gift
To guide by reason’s restraint,
Or it drags one down to hell.
I am being purged
By love’s intoxication:
Desire forced to yield
To what is noble and right,
Not to lust’s hot-burning hell.
You are not heaven
To me, but purgatory;
In yourself, goodness,
Beauty in body and deeds,
But torture to my desires.
I’m Odysseus
Strapped to the ship’s mast to hear
The Sirens’ calling;
I see your shape, but can’t touch;
I tremble in awe, and weep.
The worship I give,
The sacrifice I offer,
Is to refrain from lust,
And seek all that’s good for you
Now and in eternity.
I may not adore
Your eyes and lips and body;
But I’ll adore you
By imitating your love--
Fervent, free, chaste, self-giving.
And who knows, perhaps
One day I’ll see you somewhere,
Ordinary you,
After Éros had his way,
And then suddenly took flight.
Still I will love you--
The one whom éros revealed
And then coaxed me
To choose truly to love you
Without bodily delights.
—Wm. Paul McKane
8 February 2020