[22] I may be excused for quoting here the sonnet No. 54, from J. A. Symonds’ translation of the sonnets of Michel Angelo:—
“From thy fair face I learn, O my loved lord,
That which no mortal tongue can rightly say:
The soul, imprisoned in her house of clay,
Holpen by thee to God hath often soared:
And though the vulgar, vain, malignant horde
Attribute what their grosser wills obey,
Yet shall this fervent homage that I pay,
This love, this faith, pure joys for us afford,
Lo, all the lovely things we find on earth,