Page:A masque of dead florentines.djvu/16

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Woe, the dead poet! Woe, the alien tomb, And brooding brow shadow'd by all Hell's gloom! How was that City proud and confident That past him by. Alas! all's woe upon her!

Say, wouldst thou know his heart? His heart was riven To God one half, to Beatrice half was given. But since God saw Heav'n bare without her soul, He took her; and the cloven heart was whole.

My spirit, like a sigh, just flutter'd o'er Our homestead city; melted then to soar As altar-smoke. But one who'd mourn'd me wed, Follow'd me from that Feast. I liv'd, being dead.