Beatrice & god

Myshkin, Prometheus, Ganymede, Grail,
Word, Dulcinea, Patroclus, or Veil,
brother or foreigner, slave-child or god,
who has been seeing your foot sores were shod?

When you are swallowing crumbs in the dust,
is it your quest? Do you do as you must?
Are you in need of a sacrificed sigh,
or are you ever so better than I?

Do you need guidance, a face to adore,
a leader, a mother, a forum, a floor?
Do you want nothing of riches and fame
(prompting my heart-mind astir at your name)?

How could I live without One to admire,
mimicking virtues he seeks to inspire?
How could I live without Someone to awe?--
and yes, I would like to be loved by that law.

Virtue, we know, lets me choose only one;
this is a Tragedy Under the Sun.
If there were One who could awe and be awed,
I were his Beatrice; he were my god.