Littell's Living Age/Volume 155/Issue 1999/"Que levas, cruel morte? Hum claro dia"

takest thou, cruel Death? A day all-splendid. At what hour diddest take it? At dawn of day. Dost thou intend thy prize? Intend it? Nay! Who willed thou take it? HE that it intended.

Who 'joys her body? Clay-cold Earth that pen'd it, How quenchèd was her light? Night o'er it lay, What saith our Lusia? She must say her say. What say? Great Mary my deserts transcended.

Slewst him that saw her? He lay dead before. What now saith Love? He durst no word let fall. And who doth silence him! My will be done.

What to the Court remained? Love-longings sore. What there remains to see? No thing at all. What glory failèd it? This lovely One. Que levas, cruel Morte? Um claro dia