NO mortal thing enthralled these longing eyes
When perfect peace in thy fair face I found;
But far within, where all is holy ground,
I feel as lit by fire a cold countenance
That burns me from afar and keeps itself ice-chill;
A strength I feel two shapely arms to fill
After trying many years, and then
near death, the able man may know
an image living in the alpine stone.
If at all, the high and new come slowly,
LOVE THE LIGHT-GIVER.
Veggio co' bei vostri occhi.
I'VE grown a goitre by dwelling in this den -
As cats from stagnant streams in Lombardy,
AFTER THE DEATH OF CECCHINO BRACCI.
A pena prima.
CHOICE soul, in whom, as in a glass, we see,
Mirrored in thy pure form and delicate,
What beauties heaven and nature can create,
WHAT should be said of him cannot be said;
By too great splendor is his name attended;
To blame is easier than those who him offended,