 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
XI
A little maiden, fifteen years or under—
And, as the curtain swings with heavy lurch,
Behold, she stands within St. Peter's Church—
O wonder! wonder! wonder!
And, as the curtain swings with heavy lurch,
Behold, she stands within St. Peter's Church—
O wonder! wonder! wonder!
And yet not so—her birthright rather seems it
She claims, whose breast the brooding sunshine warms
To absolute sense of colours and of forms—
Her birthright 'tis she deems it.
She claims, whose breast the brooding sunshine warms
To absolute sense of colours and of forms—
Her birthright 'tis she deems it.
Or nothing deems—but, very sweet and grave,
Yet proud withal to be at last in Rome,
And see the shops, and see St. Peter's Dome,
She passes up the nave.
Yet proud withal to be at last in Rome,
And see the shops, and see St. Peter's Dome,
She passes up the nave.
And if some angel spreads a silver wing
I know not—Visibly accompanying her
Are but her mother and her grandmother—
The lovely little thing!
I know not—Visibly accompanying her
Are but her mother and her grandmother—
The lovely little thing!
Such soil, such children, representing clearly
The land they live in; so that if this pet
Of subtlest variance had the alphabet,
You'd think it nature merely.
The land they live in; so that if this pet
Of subtlest variance had the alphabet,
You'd think it nature merely.
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And if, where stemming crags the torrent shatter,
She stood before the sunlit waterfall,
And wrapp'd the rainbow round her like a shawl,
It were a simple matter.
She stood before the sunlit waterfall,
And wrapp'd the rainbow round her like a shawl,
It were a simple matter.
Now Mary and her dead Son—she has seen them:—
“Yes, darling, wrought by Michael Angelo”!
And now, too short to reach to Peter's toe,
They lift her up between them;
“Yes, darling, wrought by Michael Angelo”!
And now, too short to reach to Peter's toe,
They lift her up between them;
And, having kissed, she soft unclasps her mother,
As graduated woman from to-day;
And blushing thinks, how Seppe's sick till they
Shall marry one another.
As graduated woman from to-day;
And blushing thinks, how Seppe's sick till they
Shall marry one another.
And when to-night her Seppe comes to meet her,
And, for the one poor kiss she gave to Peter,
Exacts a vengeful twenty, if she can
For kisses, she will tell him all the plan
Of Peter's Church, and What a tiny kiss
It was, “Seppino; not like this, or this!”
And how, hard by, the hungry Englishman
Looked just as if he'd eat her!
And, for the one poor kiss she gave to Peter,
Exacts a vengeful twenty, if she can
For kisses, she will tell him all the plan
Of Peter's Church, and What a tiny kiss
It was, “Seppino; not like this, or this!”
And how, hard by, the hungry Englishman
Looked just as if he'd eat her!
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |