Identifier: florenceinpoetry00ryan (find matches)
Title: Florence in poetry, history and art
Year: 1913 (1910s)
Authors: Ryan, Sara Agnes
Subjects:
Publisher: Chicago, Mayer and Miller Co.
Contributing Library: Robarts - University of Toronto
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Toronto

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e. I marked the matchless colors wreathedOn the fair brow, the peerless cheek; The lips, I fancied, almost breathedThe blessing that they could not speak. Fair were the eyes with mine that bentUpon the picture their mild gaze, And dear the voice that gave consentTo all the utterance of my praise. 0 fit companionship of thought; 0 happy memories, shrined apart;The rapture that the painter wrought, The kindred rapture of the heart. —William Allen Butler. Raphael made a century of sonnets,Made and wrote them in a certain volumeDinted with the silver-pointed pencilElse he only used to draw Madonnas:These, the world might view—but one, the vol-ume.Who that one, you ask? your heart instructs you.Did she live and love it all her lifetime IDid she droop, his lady of the sonnets,Die, and let it drop beside her pillowWhere it lay in place of Raphaels glory,Raphaels cheek so duteous and so loving—Cheek, the world was wont to hail a painters,Raphaels cheek, her love had turned a poets ? 242
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Kaphael. You and I would rather read that volume,(Taken to his beating bosom by it)Lean and list the bosom—beats of Raphael,Would we not? than wonder at Madonnas—Her, San Sisto named, and her, Foligno,Her, that visits Florence in a vision,Her, thats left with lilies in the Louvre—Seen by us and all the world in circle. —Robert Browning. RAPHAEL. I shall not soon forget that sight:The glow of autumns westering day, A hazy warmth, a dreamy light,On Raphaels picture lay. It was a simple print I saw,The fair face of a musing boy; Yet, while I gazed, a sense of aweSeemed blending with my joy. A simple print:—the graceful flowOf boyhoods soft and wavy hair, And fresh young lip and cheek, and browUnmarked and clear, were there. Yet through its sweet and calm reposeI saw the inward spirit shine; It was as if before me roseThe white veil of a shrine. 243 Florence. As if, as Gothlands sage has told,The hidden life, the man within, Discovered from its frame and mould,By mortal eye were

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