 | Poems |  |
109
SONNET
TO THE “MADONNA DELLA SEGGIOLA” AT FLORENCE.
Madonna!—Mother! in the northern airThey styled thee Goddess, and they bade me kneel
Before thy holy beauty:—I am here,
And worship not! yet how I inly feel
Thy mortal, mother-splendour, tears reveal,
Tears of true joy and passionate happiness
To call thee woman: hadst thou not been real
I could have worshipped more, but loved thee less.
No! thou art ours!—by the warm flowing breast
Thou art of us, and now I know that He
Sought how Heaven's glory might be imaged best,
And seeking still, found no divinity
Or in the Earth beneath, or Heaven above
Half so divine as a young mother's love.
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