Read introduction

This poem proclaims the beauty of the feminine image as being reflective of both the inward beauty of the feminine spirit, and the tenderness of the heart of God.

Wonderful Woman

Img_0071by Richard Paulson 09 Apr 2020

Are the motions of her breasts, her feeling?
Do their tender curves tell her tender thought;
Which the beating of her heart's revealing?
Were not her twin gems by soft feelings wrought?
As her hair grew, to cover, so did they:
To glorify the beauty of the heart.
The sea-waves are not so in gentle sway;
Nor flowers as coloured when petals part;
For they lack the grand, harmonious array.
Thus no covering is so sweet and smart.

It's in the sea-blue eyes
Where her emotion lies.
It's in the parting lips
Where the sweet honey drips.
And her words and her sighs,
My soul, in wonder, sips.
It's in the ocean skies
Where her thoughts sail, like ships,
And swaying figure flies.
Her feeling's in her hips!

Her feeling's in each part, from head to toe;
In the curves of her whole body, surging.
Her shapeliness is pure, like white, soft snow,
The tenderness of God's heart, mirroring.
What is in the form of a woman's look?
She is God's handiwork, for wondrous show.
What's in the smoothness of a flowing brook?
The same song that sings in a lady's glow.
God made man from the lowly dust, and took
From him a rib, for his own self to know.

What's in each twin, soft pap,
Which yields the sweetest sap?
What's in the rippling waves,
For which my spirit craves,
Resting upon her lap?
From lust her bosom saves;
The icy senses snap.
My feelings never waives
These beauties that enwrap,
And on my heart engraves.

What they write upon it, no one can tell,
For there's something beyond the logical,
And her breasts are a bottomless well.
They're complex and yet so very simple.
Can anyone define the loveliness?
“It's curves, it's tenderness, it's harmony.”
Yet can anyone tell why they should bless?
Or what constitutes femininity?
Do flowers have it? Not but in her tress.
And the fawn's eyes may only speak of “she”.

There's softness in the eyes,
And in the wind that sighs.
There are curves everywhere;
In clouds, trees, without their
Being clothed with what lies
In her, though she be bare.
In every part she cries:
“No creature is as fair,
And if you be so wise,
And godlike, you must stare.”

It is a beast who cannot appreciate
Beauty, and who takes the flesh for a feast
In an act of greed, but not to satiate
A sense of the beautiful, in the least.
But he who loves the beauty of what is,
Cannot, in rejoicing, ever find lust,
For in everything his eyes only kiss;
Not willing for his flesh to take a crust,
Lest for a moment his thankful eyes miss
The true feast, compared with which all is dust.

He who loves beauty, dies
In his flesh, wherein lies
Lust and iniquity.
Appreciation cries,
“That such cravings may be;”
Since he cannot surmise
In all that he can see,
That feasting in his eyes
Is itself, not beauty.

The flesh is vile, but the image it gives
In beauty, speaks of what forever is.
And he who sees God's noble likeness, lives
Gently cushioned in the bosom of bliss.
And when is beauty but a vanity?
When the woman can no longer display
That she owes all to God, in sanity,
And outward shows not an inward array.
Let a woman therefore show her beauty,
That her silent spirit may have her say.

The flesh is indeed vile,
But the spirit's in style,
When God shall glorify
The body that shall die.
And even now a while,
Although in longing's sigh
We tread, yet we can smile
At the shadows that fly
Heavenward, without guile, –
Telling us what's on high.

Breasts are clothes of an ornamental kind;
Breasts were made to add to a glorious dress;
Especially made for noble men, to find,
In all that they are, God's own tenderness.
Even when she's naked, on occasion,
She's not truly so, – be not mistaken.
Even in this dies, sinful sensation.
No man with fault can be overtaken,
Whose spirit rises in pure elation,
For all others dim eyes to awaken.

For richly clothed is she,
Even in nudity.
God made her to express
Mankind's own happiness.
It is in her body
That is not spiritless,
Which makes us all to see,
That her shapes are a dress,
And her spirit's pretty,

What grew upon the heart gives to the heart
Of men, what is in the heart of Jesus.
Beauty cannot from eternity part;
The One who dwells therein made what pleases.
And I with God shall forever wonder,
At symbolic things in forms of his art,
That speaks like the lightning of his thunder.
For in that which appears there strikes his heart,
In tearing woman from man asunder;
That speaks “oneness” in telling them apart.

For what we say is “male”,
Is told by the female.
And what we see is “strong”,
Is in her tender song.
And none can to God sail,
On their wings all along,
Unless the winds we hail
In the valley that's long:
“Strong and soft,” without fail; –
That to which they belong.

Strong in justice, – soft in mercy is God.
Justice is always strong inside mercy.
Soft mercy arrays his strong lightning rod.
God's justice penetrates in strength, softly.
The dew of his heart comes with a sprinkle.
Man's justice, the woman's mercies awake.
Her smiling lips are the stars that twinkle,
Like laughing waves of the wide sea they break;
Her sapphire eyes with their starlight mingle,
And grand billows of boundless beauty make.

The ruling principle
Is the invincible
Justice of the Father.
A womanly wonder
Is in the merciful
Spirit that is tender.
She's in the crucible
Of love's fire forever;
Which makes ineffable
Shapes in every member.