Our army met Perugia’s on the plain
beside the hospital. All day we fought
with crossbow, sword, and lancet to obtain
our freedom, but by dusk it came to naught.
So I became a prisoner of men,
as glorious as a rat holed in its nest,
and mourned for joys I might not taste again,
considering him pierced the truly blessed.
Then skulking home, I gained some intimation
of grace in watching lepers beg their food,
and learned no earthly city is my nation,
and that affliction borne can proffer good.
For Heaven holds neither Ghibelline nor Guelph,
but those whom God abases for himself.
The Ones Who Didn’t Convert
Melanie McDonagh’s Converts, reviewed in First Things last month, allows us to gaze close-up at the extraordinary…
The Burning World of William Blake (ft. Mark Vernon)
In the latest installment of the ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein, Mark Vernon joins…
Bladee’s Redemptive Rap
Georg Friedrich Philipp von Hardenberg, better known by his pen name Novalis, died at the age of…