 | Poems |  |
I.
[Our poet-priest of art you should have seen]
Our poet-priest of art you should have seen,Who makes its voice one deep-toned hymn to God,
Who'd have its paths with feet the holiest trod,
Such as where Pisa's time-smooth'd graves are green
And silent, in her Holy Field have been,
And girt with tender beauty its dear sod,
Memmi, Orcagna, and he, dear to God,
Gaddi. Nor have such. by him, been unseen
Breathing amongst us, with whom art is prayer,
Each work is worship, where, nor faint nor dim
Glory to God is wrought in beauty rare,
In shapes and colours, through which upward swim
Sweet incense, which our awed souls skywards bear.
Hunt and Rosetti, so your hands praise Him.
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