XVII
180What were seen? None knows, none ever will know.
Only this is sure—the sight were other,
Not the moon's same side, born late in Florence,
Dying now impoverished here in London.
God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures
Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with,
°[186][One] to show a woman when he loves her.°
XVIII
This I say of me, but think of you, Love!
This to you—yourself my moon of poets!
Ah, but that's the world's side, there's the wonder,
190Thus they see you, praise you, think they know you!
There, in turn I stand with them and praise you— [page 234]
Out of my own self, I dare to phrase it.
But the best is when I glide from out them,
Cross a step or two of dubious twilight,
Come out on the other side, the novel
Silent silver lights and darks undreamed of,
Where I hush and bless myself with silence.
XIX
Oh, their Rafael of the dear Madonnas,
Oh, their Dante of the dread Inferno,
200Wrote one song—and in my brain I sing it,
Drew one angel—borne, see, on my bosom!