Sonnets—Actualities IV by little accurate saints thickly which tread the serene nervous light of paradise— by angelfaces clustered like bright lice about god’s capable dull important head— by on whom glories whisperingly impinge (god’s pretty mother)but may not confuse the clever hair nor rout the young mouth whose lips being a smile exactly strange— this painter should have loved my lady. And by this throad a little suddenly lifted in singing—hands fragile whom almost tire the sleepshaped lilies— should my lady’s body with these frail ladies dangerously respire: impeccable girls in raiment laughter-gifted.