Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/324

296 II

Beyond the ilex-dome, against the west,

The sunset sky was crimson: "Then," you say,

Fair is to-morrow, if the sky was red."

Fair is to-morrow"? O, to-morrow fair

That wakes me from this dream?—Here from my tower

One planet marks where Prato lies below,

And yonder, through the tender gray and green

Of the high-branching plane-tree, shines a light

Betwixt the earth and heaven—a lure that means

Florence, and all its wonder; now, ah, now

The hour draws nigh when Italy once more

To me is of the past, a thought, a passion,

But all ungrasped of sense.

And what is that our Cosimo has said?

To-day the nightingales have come."—Have come?

And I, tho' listening long, and with my soul,

I have not heard one tone.

In the Tower at.

A SACRED COMEDY IN FLORENCE

IN WHICH TAKES PART A CERTAIN STATUE ON THE FAÇADE OF THE DUOMO

Pope upon his throne,

Cold in marble, high in air,

On the Duomo's checkered front—

Benediction, as is wont,

Falling from his saintly face

Down upon the clattering square:

Falls, to-day, a special grace,

For, in fact, he's not alone—

Solemn Pope upon his throne,