See, from this counterfeit of him
Whom Arno shall remember long,
How stern of lineament, how grim,
The father was of Tuscan song!
There but the burning sense of wrong,
Perpetual care, and scorn, abide—
Small friendship for the lordly throng,...
Thomas William Parsons
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“o frate mio! ciascuna e cittadina
D’ una vera citta”… -
O ye sweet heavens! your silence is to me
More than all music. With what full delight
I come down to my dwelling by the sea
And look from out the lattice on the night!
There the same glories burn serene and bright
As in my boyhood; and if I am old
... -
quale allodetta che in aere si spazia
Prima cantando, e poi tace, contenta,
Dell’ ultima dolcezza che la sazia.
DANTE: Paradiso, XX. -
My christmas gifts were few: to one
A fan, to keep love’s flame alive,
Since even to the constant sun
Twilight and setting must arrive;And to another—she who sent
That splendid toy, an empty purse—
I gave, though not for satire meant,... -
Finding francesca full of tears, I said,
“Tell me thy trouble.” “Oh, my dog is dead!
Murdered by poison!—no one knows for what—
Was ever dog born capable of that?”
“Child,”—I began to say, but checked my thought,—
“A better dog can easily be bought.”... -
Ermine or blazonry, he knew them not,
Nor cloth of gold, for Duty was his Queen;
But this he knew,—a soul without a spot,
Judgment untarnished, and a conscience clean.In peace, in war, a worker day and night,
Laborious chieftain! toiling at his... -
Into the noiseless country Annie went,
Among the silent people where no sound
Of wheel or voice or implement—no roar
Of wind or billow moves the tranquil air:And oft at midnight when my strength is spent
And day’s delirium in the lull is drowned... -
This is Palm Sunday: mindful of the day,
I bring palm branches, found upon my way:
But these will wither; thine shall never die,—
The sacred palms thou bearest to the sky!
Dear little saint, though but a child in years,
Older in wisdom than my gray... -
The handful here, that once was Mary’s earth,
Held, while it breathed, so beautiful a soul,
That, when she died, all recognized her birth,
And had their sorrow in serene control.“Not here! not here!” to every mourner’s heart
The wintry wind seemed...