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Fronting her silent in the glass-
“ Him, the Carver, a hand to aid, “ Who fashions the clay no love will change, “ And fixes a beauty never to fade.
“ Let Robbia's craft so apt and strange
“ Make me a face on the window there,
“ And let me think that it may beguile
“ To say, “What matters it at the end ? .“I did no more while my heart was warm « « Than does that image, my pale-faced friend.'
“ Where is the use of the lip's red charm,
!“ Unless we turn, as the soul knows how,
But long ere Robbia's cornice, fine
(And, leaning out of a bright blue space, As a ghost might lean from a chink of sky, The passionate pale lady's face
Eyeing ever, with earnest eye
The Duke had sighed like the simplest wretch
Some subtle moulder of brazen shapes-
“ John of Douay shall effect my plan,
“ In the very square I have crossed so oft : “ That men may admire, when future suns “Shall touch the eyes to a purpose soft,
“ While the mouth and the brow stay brave in bronze“ Admire and say, “When he was alive " • How he would take his pleasure once!'
“ And it shall go hard but I contrive
So! While these wait the trump of doom,
Still, I suppose, they sit and ponder
Only they see not God, I know,
Burn upward each to his point of bliss
I hear you reproach, “But delay was best, “ For their end was a crime."-Oh, a crime will do As well, I reply, to serve for a test,
Aș a virtue golden through and through,
Must a game be played for the sake of pelf?
The true has no value beyond the sham:
Stake your counter as boldly every whit,
If you choose to play !is my principle.
The counter, our lovers staked, was lost
Is, the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin,
LOVE AMONG THE RUINS.
WHERE the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles,
Miles and miles,
As they crop-
(So they say)
Ages since, Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far
Peace or war.
Now,—the country does not even boast a tree,
As you see,
From the hills
Up like fires