Classic Poem

The Mother of all mothers; yet, no less
The Virgin of all virgins; yea, the more:
For 'tis from thy deific fruitfulness
Have drawn all virgins their perennial store.
Since Virgin-Eve grew mother of our loss,
Virginity was barren — until thine,
Which bore the Fruit that, in the press of the cross,
Redeemed us with the virgin-making Wine.
And now Virginity may wed thy Son,
Becoming thus the Mother of fair deeds.
Still, after all the glories it has won
In following the Lamb where'er he leads,
How peerless thine in having drawn him down
And brought him forth — the Virgin's Spouse and Crown.