An English Madonna :: :: University of Virginia Library

I have not Raphael's art: I have but words,—in colour
Than thy sweet rose-flushed cheek how infinitely duller!—
I have my poet's pen:
But never any brush of mighty genius-painter
To show thee to the world,—ah! even so far fainter
Than the true image, never seen of men.

Yet if the world learns not, in some degree, thy beauty,
What has it lost! Ah! fate, if thou didst half thy duty
Thou wouldst a Raphael bring
That he might hand this face to future generations,
A treasure for unborn Art-worshipping far nations.
Raphael had colour-might. I only sing.

A new Madonna-face thou hast. Our skies and waters
See faces fair as those of old Italia's daughters
Whose dark sweet pure eyes gleam
For ever through the might of Raphael.—Old-world passion
Would have adored thy face in ardent fiery fashion:
Thou wouldst have made the soul of Titian dream.

And now to-day, far-off from old-world love and wonder,
I sing thee: and grim waves of seas and long years sunder
Our souls from Italy.
Yet thou hast given the world one more Madonna-glory;
Gazing on no blue deep from Southern promontory,
But from white English cliff on wild grey sea.