𝑴𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝑴𝒊𝒂 🎀

Yesterday, at the time of filming this video, I found a moment of peace and beauty in the midst of a long and busy day when I sat down to read the poem, “Madonna Mia,” by the English poet, playwright, and novelist Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909). This poem resonates deeply with anyone who, like myself, has a profound love of beautiful words and the art of poetry. Its lyrical elegance and vivid imagery capture the sublime beauty of love, transforming it into something both passionate and sacred. I am enchanted by Swinburne’s use of language, and I think that you will be, too. He creates, for you and me, a world where emotions flow like a river of delicate, graceful verses. “Madonna Mia” is a testament to the power of poetry to not only express love but to elevate it, turning the simplest feelings into something eternal and breathtaking—reminding me of why I cherish the magic of beautiful words. Please follow along with the full text of the poem below as I read it aloud to you. 🌸

Under green apple boughs
That never a storm will rouse,
My lady hath her house
Between two bowers;
In either of the twain
Red roses full of rain;
She hath for bondwomen
All kind of flowers.

She hath no handmaid fair
To draw her curled gold hair
Through rings of gold that bear
Her whole hair’s weight;
She hath no maids to stand
Gold-clothed on either hand;
In all the great green land
None is so great.

She hath no more to wear
But one white hood of vair
Drawn over eyes and hair,
Wrought with strange gold,
Made for some great queen’s head,
Some fair great queen since dead;
And one strait gown of red
Against the cold.

Beneath her eyelids deep
Love lying seems asleep,
Love, swift to wake, to weep,
To laugh, to gaze;
Her breasts are like white birds,
And all her gracious words
As water-grass to herds
In the June-days.

To her all dews that fall
And rains are musical;
Her flowers are fed from all,
Her joy from these;
In the deep-feathered firs
Their gift of joy is hers,
In the least breath that stirs
Across the trees.

She grows with greenest leaves,
Ripens with reddest sheaves,
Forgets, remembers, grieves,
And is not sad;
The quiet lands and skies
Leave light upon her eyes;
None knows her, weak or wise,
Or tired or glad.

None knows, none understands,
What flowers are like her hands;
Though you should search all lands
Wherein time grows,
What snows are like her feet,
Though his eyes burn with heat
Through gazing on my sweet,
Yet no man knows.

Only this thing is said;
That white and gold and red,
God’s three chief words, man’s bread
And oil and wine,
Were given her for dowers,
And kingdom of all hours,
And grace of goodly flowers
And various vine.

This is my lady’s praise:
God after many days
Wrought her in unknown ways,
In sunset lands;
This was my lady’s birth;
God gave her might and mirth
And laid his whole sweet earth
Between her hands.

Under deep apple-boughs
My lady hath her house;
She wears upon her brows
The flower thereof;
All saying but what God saith
To her is as vain breath;
She is more strong than death,
Being strong as love.

#beauty #beautiful #innerbeauty #love #inspiration #thoughts #journal #diary #philosophy #psychology #psychiatry #literature #quotes #poetry #writing #art #wisdom #religion #spirituality #theology #encouragement #romantic #romance

[JeremyLeigh]

This is such a beautiful poem, Lubna. It contains such wonderful metaphors and images.
I am pretty sure it's about the Virgin Mary. There's the title obviously, but there are many things in the poem that relate to her in one way or another. I looked Swinburne up and he seems like the last person who would have ever written such a beautiful hymn about Mary, but again and again in life it is the least likely who manage some great thing or other. I am surprised I have never heard of this stunning poem. Thanks for waking me up with it.🌸🪻🌺