Move not so lightly, Time, away,
Grant us a breathing-space of tender ruth;
Deal not so harshly with the flying day,
Leave us the charm of spring, the touch of youth.
Leave us the lilacs wet with dew,
Leave us the balsams odorous with rain,
Leave us of frail hepaticas a few,
Let the red osier sprout for us again.
Leave us the hazel thickets set
Along the hills, leave us a month that yields
The fragile bloodroot and the violet,
Leave us the sorrage shimmering on the fields.
You offer us largess of power,
You offer fame, we ask not these in sooth,
These comfort age upon his failing hour,
But oh, the charm of spring, the touch of youth!
A MEMORY OF THE ‘INFERNO’
An hour before the dawn I dreamed of you;
Your spirit made a smile upon your face,
As fleeting as the visionary grace
That music lends to words; and when it flew,
I thought of how the maid Francesca grew,
So lovely at Ravenna, until Time
Ripened the fruit of her immortal crime.
As pure as light my vision took this hue
To paint our sorrow: so your lips made moan;
‘Upon that day we read no more therein’:
I wept, such tears Paolo might have known;
And all the love, the immemorial pain,
Swept down upon me as I felt begin,
That furious circle rage and reel again.
LA BELLE FERONIÈRE
I never trod where Leonardo was,
Then why art thou within this house of dreams,
Strange Lady? From thy face a memory streams,
Of things, forgotten now, that came to pass;
The flower of Milan floated in thy glass:
Thy dreaming smile; thy subtle loveliness!
Ah! laughter airier far than ours, I guess,
Lighted thy brow, fleeter than fire in grass.