Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/323

Rh A broken heart, a smile upon the lips;

And, at the end,

When Heaven bent down and whispered in his ear

The word God's saints waited and longed to hear,

I ween he was as quick as they to comprehend;

And, when he past beyond the goal,

Entered the gates of pearl no sweeter soul.

A DAY IN TUSCANY

I

the Rucellai had choice of villas:

This day has proved it, this thrice happy day

Stolen from care, and many a saddened thought.

Have we not seen, we wanderers from afar,

Fountained Caneto, standing watch and ward

Over Bisenzio's lovely, curving vale!—

Caneto, olive-cinctured, cypress-crowned,

And wreathed in vine; Caneto, whose high hall

Bears record of a proud and noble race,

Friendly to art and letters (Cimabue

Be witness paramount; and the brave front

Of Santa Maria Novella; the Academe

That in the Garden of the Rucellai

Relit the Athenian fire!). Yes, Edith dear,

I love Caneto well, but well I love

This "Villa of the Little Fields," that hides

Embowered among its farms; in rose and lilac

Radiant and scented like an April bride;

'Mid busy sounds secluded and remote.

But most I love this tower you call my own,

This musing tower that wins the soul to song,

From whose four windows, see! the Apennines

Make a walled paradise of Tuscany.