Poems Lyrical and Dramatic | ||
I.
To-day I called thy face up from the grave,
The grave of grief where I had buried it,
And with old threads of memory newly knit
The features sweet that made my soul a slave.
The grave of grief where I had buried it,
And with old threads of memory newly knit
The features sweet that made my soul a slave.
The noble courtesy that never gave
Too little or too much, the smiles that flit
O'er marble brows like a fair poem writ,
The clear Greek face a sculptor's hand might grave.
Too little or too much, the smiles that flit
O'er marble brows like a fair poem writ,
The clear Greek face a sculptor's hand might grave.
185
Then swift I felt a keen and piercing pain;
As he who, bitten of the serpent's fang,
A moment stood, and straight to ashes fell;
As he who, bitten of the serpent's fang,
A moment stood, and straight to ashes fell;
Or like those others 'neath the scalding rain
And sleet of fire the Tuscan poet sang,
Lying upon the “burning marl” of Hell.
And sleet of fire the Tuscan poet sang,
Lying upon the “burning marl” of Hell.
Poems Lyrical and Dramatic | ||