Hath Pagan Plato triumphed over Christ
And sent his chief apostle back to us?
Or hath Lord Christ in his compassion wrought
That kindness Dives craved of Abraham,
Sending Lorenzo here from off his breast
To bid me snatch my Joy ere Death befalls?
No . . . no, the moon shines through and makes
all plain.
This is some old Florentine Lazarus—
A soldier crippled in our Pisan wars