Whym Chow

Nay, thou art my eternal attribute:
Not as Saint Agnes in loose arms her lamb —
The very essence of the thing I am:
And, as the lion, at Saint Jerome's suit.
Stood ever at his right hand, scanning mute
The hollows of the fountainous earth, whence swam
Emergent from the welter, sire and dam:
While Jerome with no knowledge of the brute
Beside him, wrote of later times, of curse.
Bloodshed, and bitter exile, verse on verse
Murmuring above the manuscript [in awe
The lion watched his lord, the Vulgate grew],
So it was wont to be betwixt us two —
How still thou lay 'st deep-nosing on thy paw!