Italy in Arms, and Other Poems

Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: SAINT ANTHONY OF PADUA Saint Anthony, beneath those soaring domes That in your memory pious hands upreared, I heard to-day the music of the mass, And saw the throng in adoration bow, ? The pleasure-loving folk of Padua. The crimson glamour of the altar lights, The mellow tinkle of the altar bells, The...
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Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: SAINT ANTHONY OF PADUA Saint Anthony, beneath those soaring domes That in your memory pious hands upreared, I heard to-day the music of the mass, And saw the throng in adoration bow, ? The pleasure-loving folk of Padua. The crimson glamour of the altar lights, The mellow tinkle of the altar bells, The lifting of the consecrated Host, And the engirdling hush wherethrough the day, From windows high-set in the mighty nave, Sifted the softened glory of its gold, ? All blended in a perfect harmony. Here, where in speaking marble your sweet deeds Are told so marvellously, your bones repose, Though noble actions need no monument. About you Padua, rich with the great past, Heaped with memorials of the days that were, When out of Italy burst the flower of art, Pulses and throbs; and yet in the tense press Naught seems so vital, so full-filled with soul, As you, deep-sepulchred although you are Beneath the lift of your stupendous domes So evermore life triumphs over death. ASHES FROM A CINERARY URN (Campo Santo di Salo) These flakes of ashes that are strewn to-day About the crimson roses at our feet, Once plucked the rose of life and found it sweet, Once dreamed the dream of life and found it Then what more fitting tribute than to lay Them round the rose which is the red pulse- beat Of sentient earth, a harmony complete Expressed in bloom, re-bourgeoning alway So shall we see with every opening June, When crescent hangs the moon at twilight's close, And pale moths flutter and the hill-winds swoon, And down the garden path the glowworm glows, And every breath we breathe is as a boon, A heart re-kindled with the kindling rose WIND OP THE DAWN 0 golden wind of the dawn, with your savor of the sea, Your voice, like a cry in the night, lays hold o.