IN VITA. CIX.
The God of Love and I in wonder stared,
(Ne'er having gazed on miracles ere now,)
Upon my lady's smiling lips and brow,
Who only with herself may be compared.
Neath the calm beauty of her forehead bared,
Those twin stars of my love did bum and flow.
No lesser lamps again the path might show
To the proud lover who by these had fared.
Oh miracle, when on the grass at rest.
Herself a flower, she would clasp and hold
A leafy branch against her snow-white breast.
What joy to see her, in the autumn cold.
Wander alone, with maiden thoughts possess'd.
Weaving a garland of dry, crispy gold !
IN MORTE. II. ON THE DEATH OF CARDINAL COLONNA AND LAURA.
The noble Column, the green Laurel-tree
Are fall'n, that shaded once my weary mind.
Now I have lost what I shall never find,
From North to South, from Red to Lidian Sea.
My double treasure Death has filched from me,
Which made me proud and happy midst my kind.
Nor may all empires of the world combined.
Nor Orient gems, nor gold restore the key.
But if this be according to Fate's will.
What may I do, but wander heavy-souled,
With ever downcast head, eyes weeping still ?
