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As the resident artist at EcoHealth, I pen verse these days inspired by the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at Amerika-Institut of LMU München, where I edit a weekly circular on poetry, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach English, tutor composition, and lead a literary circle.

20150915

XXIII

by John Milton


Methought I saw my late espoused saint 
       Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave, 
       Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, 
       Rescu'd from death by force, though pale and faint. 
Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint 
       Purification in the old Law did save, 
       And such as yet once more I trust to have 
       Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint, 
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind; 
       Her face was veil'd, yet to my fancied sight 
       Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd 
So clear as in no face with more delight. 
       But Oh! as to embrace me she inclin'd, 
       I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night.

Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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