Poems By W. C. Bennett: New ed |
AT PISA—IN THE CAMPO SANTO—BEFORE THE FRESCOES AND TOMB OF BENOZZO GOZZOLI. |
Poems | ||
AT PISA—IN THE CAMPO SANTO—BEFORE THE FRESCOES AND TOMB OF BENOZZO GOZZOLI.
Sleep on, Benozzo, in her Holy Field,By thee made holier. From thy pencil here,
What prayers, what solemn hymns, full-toned and clear,
Unto thy God their praise and glory yield!
These through the speeding centuries have peal'd
Strains to the raptured souls of men how dear,
Strains fit to rise in reverence to His ear
Before whose light, their sight, archangels shield.
Our God forgot, we work alone for men,
For man's poor praises now alone have care;
So Art, that wore celestial radiance then,
And heavenly robes she may no longer wear,
She shall not know her olden power till when
She too our prayers to heaven again shall bear.
Poems | ||