Fair maiden, yours are eyes which hold a look
Forgotten by the charred and battered beast
Which held your heart before and then forsook
The life he once had known--abruptly ceased.
Yours were eyes and skin and hair of love
Softening his heart of stone, increased
Your gentleness until it was enough
To drive him into life and love and light.
But what has hell to do with God above?
No pleading voice could say his love was right
For you, for him, despite your promised hand.
No—his honor held him from your sight.
The beast no more can enter promised lands
Than beauty may a heart of stone command.
postscript
Terza Rima sonnet for day three of Crowns of Sonnets' February sonnet challenge. [link] My inspiration comes from the somewhat cliched idea of the beast's unworthiness of such untarnished beauty. But really--is the beauty wise to throw herself at such darkness? Maybe I'll explore that side in a later sonnet.