  (In the British Museum) Who crowned thy forehead with the ivy wreath And clustered berries burdening the hair? Who gave thee godhood, and dim rites? Beware O beautiful, who breathest mortal breath, Thou delicate flame great gloom environeth! The gods are free, and drink a stainless air, And lightly on calm shoulders they upbear A weight of joy eternal, nor can Death Cast o’er their sleep the shadow of her shrine. O thou confessed too mortal by the o’er-fraught Crowned forehead, must thy drooped eyes ever see The glut of pleasure, those pale lips of thine Still suck a bitter-sweet satiety, Thy soul descend through cloudy realms of thought? IV. LEONARDO’S “MONNA LISA”Make thyself known, Sibyl, or let despair Of knowing thee be absolute; I wait Hour-long and waste a soul. What word of fate Hides ’twixt the lips which smile and still forbear? Secret perfection! Mystery too fair! Tangle the sense no more lest I should hate Thy delicate tyranny, the inviolate Poise of thy folded hands, thy fallen hair. Nay, nay,—I wrong thee with rough words; still be Serene, victorious, inaccessible; Still smile but speak not; lightest irony Lurk ever ’neath thine eyelids’ shadow; still O’ertop our knowledge; Sphinx of Italy Allure us and reject us at thy will! V. ST LUKE PAINTING THE VIRGIN(By Van der Weyden) It was Luke’s will; and she, the mother-maid, Would not gainsay; to please him pleased her best; See, here she sits with dovelike heart at rest Brooding, and smoothest brow; the babe is laid On lap and arm, glad for the unarrayed And swatheless limbs he stretches; lightly pressed By soft maternal fingers the full breast By her own bosom and half passes down To reach the boy. Through doors and window-frame Bright airs flow in; a river tranquilly Washes the small, glad Netherlandish town. Innocent calm! no token here of shame, A pierced heart, sunless heaven, and Calvary. |
|
