 | Louise de la Valliaere and other poems |  |
77
FRA ANGELICO AT FIESOLE.
I.
Home through the pleasant olive woods at evenHe sees the patient milk-white oxen go;
Without his lattice doves wheel to and fro,
A great moon climbs the wan green fields of heaven.
An hour since, the sun-veil whereon are graven
Gold bells and pomegranates in scarlet show
Parted, and lo! the city's spires of snow
Flushed like an opal, and the streets gold paven!
Then the night's purple fell and hid the rest,
And this monk's eyes filled with the happy tears
That come to him beholding all things fair:
A bird's flight over wan skies to the nest;
The great sad eyes of beasts, the silk wheat ears,
Flowers, or the gold dust on a baby's hair.
78
II.
In his small cell he hath high company,The angels make it their abiding-place;
Their grave eternal eyes 'neath brows of grace
Watch him at work, their great wings silently
Wrap him around with peace; and it may be
That looking from his work a minute's space,
The sudden blue eyes of an angel's face
His happy startled eyes are raised to see.
Down through the shadowy corridor they glide,
Their wings auroral trailing soft and slow,
Each still face like a moon-lit lily in June;
They kiss with fair pale lips the canvas wide,
Whereon his colours like dropped jewels glow
Against a gold ground pale as the harvest moon.
| Louise de la Valliaere and other poems | |