THE LAST ANGEL.A STORY TOLD OF CORREGGIO.
The monks had shut his picture in, and,—yearning
For one more last look, one, and yet one more,—
Heavily laden, with the hollows burning
In his dusk cheek, he left the convent door.
For one more last look, one, and yet one more,—
Heavily laden, with the hollows burning
In his dusk cheek, he left the convent door.
Through the South sun he wandered homeward, moaning:
"His Christ for silver gave the Jew of old;
Have I not sinned like him beyond atoning?
My Christ for copper I to-day have sold."
"His Christ for silver gave the Jew of old;
Have I not sinned like him beyond atoning?
My Christ for copper I to-day have sold."
Alone he walked, afraid to meet the faces
He loved the most on earth—Ah, bitter fate!
His beautiful starving children, with hot traces
Of tears on cheeks, were crowded at the gate.
He loved the most on earth—Ah, bitter fate!
His beautiful starving children, with hot traces
Of tears on cheeks, were crowded at the gate.
