Two visions of divine Cecilia,
Born of Italian art, possess my mind.
One in the marble, at her tomb enshrined,
Reveals her as in catacomb she lay.
The budding maiden in her chaste array—
Ah! closely let that awful necklace bind
Clipt flower to stem!—to that cold sleep declined,
Was in warm marriage-bed a bud alway.
Her heart’s dear love starved for a Mystic Spouse;
She was not chary of sweet music’s gift