I would peruse the writing on the grass
Which flowers have traced in blue and red and white;
And, reading these, I would, as from a pen,
Read thoughts of thine unguess'd by other men!
V.
DANTE.
He liv'd and lov'd; he suffer'd; he was poor;
But he was gifted with the gifts of Heaven,
And those of all the week-days that are seven,
And those of all the centuries that endure.