Page:Songs before sunrise (IA beforesunrisongs00swinrich).pdf/212

 Across the fiery and fatal ground Comes tender as a hurt bird's note To where, a ghost with empty hands, A woe-worn ghost, her palace stands In the mid city, where the strong Bells turn the sunset air to song, And the towers throng.

With other face, with speech the same, A mightier maiden's likeness came Late among mourning men that slept, A sacred ghost that went and wept, White as the passion-wounded Lamb, Saying, "Ah, remember me, that am Italia." (From deep sea to sea Earth heard, earth knew her, that this was she.) "Ricorditi.

"Love made me of all things fairest thing, And Hate unmade me; this knows he Who with God's sacerdotal ring Enringed mine hand, espousing me." Yea, in thy myriad-mooded woe, Yea, Mother, hast thou not said so? Have not our hearts within us stirred, O thou most holiest, at thy word? Have we not heard?