 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
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XXII. MILTON VISITING GALILEO IN HIS BLINDNESS.
Behold how long, and with what earnest eyeHe gazes on that venerable face,
And forehead heavenward lifted! Doth he trace
In that calm symbol of serenity
And sorrow mastered with a loftier grace,
The shadow of his own high destiny;
Virtue contending with the pride of place,
Blindness, unhonoured age, and penury?
Yes—ye are like, though Time not yet hath marred
The lightest of those locks; nor anguish pressed
The signet of her silence cold and hard
Upon those lips so lovely in their rest:
Yes—ye are like, as morn is like to even,
Or trance of Summer-noon to Winter's frozen heaven.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |