To find your way into this old city church;
Yet on fine Sunday mornings I frequently stray
There to see a new saint, whom I’ve christened St. May.
Of saints I’ve seen plenty in churches before—
In Florence or Venice they’re there by the score;
Agnese, Maria—the rest I forget—
By Titian, Bassano, and brave Tintoret:
They none can compare, though they’re well in their way,
In maidenly grace with my dainty St. May.
She’s young for a saint, for she’s scarcely eighteen,