 | In Russet & Silver |  |
97
BEATRICE
Thro' Dante's hands, in dreamy vigil clasp'd,
A pale green bud shot skyward from the sod;
He bowed and sighed; then laid the prize he grasp'd,
A folded lily, at the feet of God.
A pale green bud shot skyward from the sod;
He bowed and sighed; then laid the prize he grasp'd,
A folded lily, at the feet of God.
There she hath slowly open'd, age by age,
And grown a star to light Man's heart to heaven;
Her perfume his divinest heritage,
Her love the noblest gift God's self hath given.
And grown a star to light Man's heart to heaven;
Her perfume his divinest heritage,
Her love the noblest gift God's self hath given.
| In Russet & Silver | |