Part 5

Already the shrill lark is out of sight, Flooding with waves of song this silent dell,— Ah! there is something more in that bird’s flight Than could be tested in a crucible!— But the air freshens, let us go, why soon The woodmen will be here; how we have lived this night of June!

ROSA MYSTICA

REQUIESCAT

TREAD lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust.

Lily-like, white as snow, She hardly knew She was a woman, so Sweetly she grew.

Coffin-board, heavy stone, Lie on her breast, I vex my heart alone, She is at rest.

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear Lyre or sonnet, All my life’s buried here, Heap earth upon it.

AVIGNON.

SONNET ON APPROACHING ITALY

I REACHED the Alps: the soul within me burned, Italia, my Italia, at thy name: And when from out the mountain’s heart I came And saw the land for which my life had yearned, I laughed as one who some great prize had earned: And musing on the marvel of thy fame I watched the day, till marked with wounds of flame The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned. The pine-trees waved as waves a woman’s hair, And in the orchards every twining spray Was breaking into flakes of blossoming foam: But when I knew that far away at Rome In evil bonds a second Peter lay, I wept to see the land so very fair.

TURIN.

SAN MINIATO

SEE, I have climbed the mountain side Up to this holy house of God, Where once that Angel-Painter trod Who saw the heavens opened wide,

And throned upon the crescent moon The Virginal white Queen of Grace,— Mary! could I but see thy face Death could not come at all too soon.

O crowned by God with thorns and pain! Mother of Christ! O mystic wife! My heart is weary of this life And over-sad to sing again.

O crowned by God with love and flame! O crowned by Christ the Holy One! O listen ere the searching sun Show to the world my sin and shame.

AVE MARIA GRATIA PLENA

WAS this His coming! I had hoped to see A scene of wondrous glory, as was told Of some great God who in a rain of gold Broke open bars and fell on Danae: Or a dread vision as when Semele Sickening for love and unappeased desire Prayed to see God’s clear body, and the fire Caught her brown limbs and slew her utterly: With such glad dreams I sought this holy place, And now with wondering eyes and heart I stand Before this supreme mystery of Love: Some kneeling girl with passionless pale face, An angel with a lily in his hand, And over both the white wings of a Dove.

FLORENCE.

ITALIA

ITALIA! thou art fallen, though with sheen Of battle-spears thy clamorous armies stride From the north Alps to the Sicilian tide! Ay! fallen, though the nations hail thee Queen Because rich gold in every town is seen, And on thy sapphire-lake in tossing pride Of wind-filled vans thy myriad galleys ride Beneath one flag of red and white and green. O Fair and Strong! O Strong and Fair in vain! Look southward where Rome’s desecrated town Lies mourning for her God-anointed King! Look heaven-ward! shall God allow this thing? Nay! but some flame-girt Raphael shall come down, And smite the Spoiler with the sword of pain.

VENICE.

SONNET

WRITTEN IN HOLY WEEK AT GENOA

I WANDERED through Scoglietto’s far retreat, The oranges on each o’erhanging spray Burned as bright lamps of gold to shame the day; Some startled bird with fluttering wings and fleet Made snow of all the blossoms; at my feet Like silver moons the pale narcissi lay: And the curved waves that streaked the great green bay Laughed i’ the sun, and life seemed very sweet. Outside the young boy-priest passed singing clear, ‘Jesus the son of Mary has been slain, O come and fill His sepulchre with flowers.’ Ah, God! Ah, God! those dear Hellenic hours Had drowned all memory of Thy bitter pain, The Cross, the Crown, the Soldiers and the Spear.

ROME UNVISITED

THE corn has turned from grey to red, Since first my spirit wandered forth From the drear cities of the north, And to Italia’s mountains fled.