The Sacrilege

To blur profane and holy
To bring pig's blood and offal
Into the inner place, simply
Is blasphemy; that is all
And presently falls the thunder
(No sign for a wicked generation
Save Jonah's) See how under
Your crooked pens the iteration
Of transgressions misnamed beauty
Slays that category; and see
Where you have slain maternity
Is born again most wonderfully
That aesthetic thing - severe
As death, as straight as dawn,
As neat as folded cloth and sere;
From image into life art drawn.