II
Sky—what a scowl of cloud
Till, near and far,
Ray on ray split the shroud.
Splendid, a star!
III
World—how it walled about
Life with disgrace
Till God's own smile came out:
That was thy face!
PROLOGUE TO PACCHIAROTTO
1876
I
O the old wall here! How I could pass
Life in a long Midsummer day,
My feet confined to a plot of grass,
My eyes from a wall not once away!
II
And lush and lithe do the creepers clothe
Yon wall I watch, with a wealth of green:
Its bald red bricks draped, nothing loth,
In lappets of tangle they laugh between.