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MICHEL ANGELO
OF HIS MADONNA IN THE NATIONAL GALLERY.
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In the dawn not of earth ever looming
On the verge of the land untrod,
All alone in the infinite gloaming,
Sat Mary the Mother of God.
On the verge of the land untrod,
All alone in the infinite gloaming,
Sat Mary the Mother of God.
There I saw Her, the Star of the Ages,
And alone as She sat I could see
The Book of the Prophet whose pages
Were open upon Her knee.
And alone as She sat I could see
The Book of the Prophet whose pages
Were open upon Her knee.
She read therein, but the saying
Was dark as the noon's eclipse:
And I heard the voice of Her praying
Going Godward up from Her lips
Was dark as the noon's eclipse:
And I heard the voice of Her praying
Going Godward up from Her lips
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“O God, that my prayer might win me
A gracious word in my need!
For my spirit is sad within me,
And Thy Prophets are hard to read.
A gracious word in my need!
For my spirit is sad within me,
And Thy Prophets are hard to read.
“Lord, how shall Thy handmaid gather
The wisdom Thy seers declare?
The burden is heavy, O Father!
It is more than my soul can bear!”
The wisdom Thy seers declare?
The burden is heavy, O Father!
It is more than my soul can bear!”
And a Voice was heard there singing,
And a sound as of wheels that roll;
A sound as of creatures winging,
And behold, a Hand with a scroll:
And a sound as of wheels that roll;
A sound as of creatures winging,
And behold, a Hand with a scroll:
Like the scroll wherein was written
Lamentations and mourning and woe,
Which the great Voice bade be eaten,
When the Seer saw God in the bow.
Lamentations and mourning and woe,
Which the great Voice bade be eaten,
When the Seer saw God in the bow.
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And lo, it was spread before Her,
And She read there the doom of blood!
Of those who were hovering o'er Her,
Four folded their wings and stood.
And She read there the doom of blood!
Of those who were hovering o'er Her,
Four folded their wings and stood.
And She cried: “O Lord, for the blossom
That hath bloomed on Jesse's rod!
The sword that hath pierced my bosom,
Must it pierce His side, my God?
That hath bloomed on Jesse's rod!
The sword that hath pierced my bosom,
Must it pierce His side, my God?
“O, look down on Thine own hand-maiden!
I prayed for a word in my need,
And behold, I am doubly laden!
O Lord, are there two must bleed?
I prayed for a word in my need,
And behold, I am doubly laden!
O Lord, are there two must bleed?
“No hope? No shadow of turning?
O, Father, thy will be done!”
But Her head was bowed with yearning,
And She groaned—“O God! My Son!”
O, Father, thy will be done!”
But Her head was bowed with yearning,
And She groaned—“O God! My Son!”
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Yet even as of old to the Prophet
When he ate of that scathing scroll;
Though bitter as reek of Tophet,
'Twas as honey sweet to his soul.
When he ate of that scathing scroll;
Though bitter as reek of Tophet,
'Twas as honey sweet to his soul.
So to Her, but sweeter, O sweeter,
As the words more bitter to eat!
A bitter beyond all bitter,
And a sweet beyond all sweet.
As the words more bitter to eat!
A bitter beyond all bitter,
And a sweet beyond all sweet.
The children came from their playing,
Her own boy Jesus and John:
Ah, what should they know of Her praying?
Of the secret that made Her wan?
Her own boy Jesus and John:
Ah, what should they know of Her praying?
Of the secret that made Her wan?
The Child touched the Book of the Prophet
That lay on His Mother's knee:
But He swept unheeded from off it
That scroll of the dread to-be;
That lay on His Mother's knee:
But He swept unheeded from off it
That scroll of the dread to-be;
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And one of the Four stooped lowly,
Took the scroll as it lay at Her feet,
Reading through in a whisper slowly
The burden, so bitter, so sweet.
Took the scroll as it lay at Her feet,
Reading through in a whisper slowly
The burden, so bitter, so sweet.
At his side, on his shoulder leaning,
A second had bowed his head,
As he followed the terrible meaning
On the scroll that his wing-mate read;
A second had bowed his head,
As he followed the terrible meaning
On the scroll that his wing-mate read;
Read, whispering low to his brother;
But the little One took no heed:—
“O, give me the Book, sweet Mother,”
He cried; “that I, too, may read!”
But the little One took no heed:—
“O, give me the Book, sweet Mother,”
He cried; “that I, too, may read!”
Ah, how earnest He waxed in His pleading,
As She held the Book from His hand!
“Mo ther mine, with Thy help in my reading,
Indeed, I shall understand!”
As She held the Book from His hand!
“Mo ther mine, with Thy help in my reading,
Indeed, I shall understand!”
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The fingers still clasped on the pages,
How fainly He clung to the Book!
Ah me for Thee, Star of the Ages!
Thou, whose love forbade Him to look!
How fainly He clung to the Book!
Ah me for Thee, Star of the Ages!
Thou, whose love forbade Him to look!
What tenderness more than maternal!
What passion divine of regret!
What yearning, what sorrow supernal!
“Not yet, O my Blessed! Not yet!”
What passion divine of regret!
What yearning, what sorrow supernal!
“Not yet, O my Blessed! Not yet!”
But that other, His playfellow, listened
To the Angels' whisper the while:
What amaze in his wide eye glistened,
And parted his lips with a smile!
To the Angels' whisper the while:
What amaze in his wide eye glistened,
And parted his lips with a smile!
For he heard, though an Angel's sighing
Made fainter the whispered word,
Of a Voice in the wilderness crying—
“Prepare ye the way of the Lord!”
Made fainter the whispered word,
Of a Voice in the wilderness crying—
“Prepare ye the way of the Lord!”
As he stood there, all ear, inly guessing,
“I, John, am that Herald, perchance!”
Two fingers half raised as in blessing,
Half dreamily closed as in trance.
“I, John, am that Herald, perchance!”
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Half dreamily closed as in trance.
Thus I saw them, I, Michel, those seven,
In the Gardens one morning in May:
They were neither on earth nor in heaven,
Yet I saw them clear as the day.
In the Gardens one morning in May:
They were neither on earth nor in heaven,
Yet I saw them clear as the day.
And I drew. Ghirlandaio half-lauded
My studies, and bade me work on.
Torregiano the Jealous applauded
By filching my sketch for the John.
My studies, and bade me work on.
Torregiano the Jealous applauded
By filching my sketch for the John.
Till at last I set hand to my painting
After mass on Saint Michaelmas day;
I wrought with a fervour unfainting
Till March in the Gardens was gay.
After mass on Saint Michaelmas day;
I wrought with a fervour unfainting
Till March in the Gardens was gay.
Then I lost my Lorenzo—Ah, never
Could I paint from that Vision agen!
I left it unfinished for ever,
For how should I finish it, then?
Could I paint from that Vision agen!
I left it unfinished for ever,
For how should I finish it, then?
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Unfinished the work, yet I wot, he
Who searches may find if he will,
In mine own Casa Buonaroti
How the Vision abode with me still.
Who searches may find if he will,
In mine own Casa Buonaroti
How the Vision abode with me still.
On the wall there in fresco far other
The work and the symbol I wrought.
I, the Seer, I had changed; but the Mother,
The same, save the mood of the thought.
The work and the symbol I wrought.
I, the Seer, I had changed; but the Mother,
The same, save the mood of the thought.
The same, too, my chisel discovered
In the Florentine marble—the same:
The same ever o'er me She hovered
When I mused, when I cried on Her name!
In the Florentine marble—the same:
The same ever o'er me She hovered
When I mused, when I cried on Her name!
In the brow, crowned with blessing, still human:
In the breast, pierced through by the sword:
Mother-Maiden! The Hope of the Woman!
The Woman through whom was the Word!
In the breast, pierced through by the sword:
Mother-Maiden! The Hope of the Woman!
The Woman through whom was the Word!
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