No More Learning

Scarcely Cosimo,
Within whose bosom and whose brain now glow
The ardours of a vision which obscure
The very idol of its portraiture.
He faints, dissolved into a sea of love; _25
But thou art as a planet sphered above;
But thou art Love itself--ruling the motion
Of his subjected spirit: such emotion
Must end in sin and sorrow, if sweet May
Had not brought forth this morn--your wedding-day. _30

. . .

'Lie there; sleep awhile in your own dew,
Ye faint-eyed children of the . . . Hours,'
Fiordispina said, and threw the flowers
Which she had from the breathing--

. . .

A table near of polished porphyry. _35
They seemed to wear a beauty from the eye
That looked on them--a fragrance from the touch
Whose warmth . . .
checked their life; a light such
As sleepers wear, lulled by the voice they love, which did reprove _40
The childish pity that she felt for them,
And a . . . remorse that from their stem
She had divided such fair shapes . . . made
A feeling in the . . . which was a shade
Of gentle beauty on the flowers: there lay _45
All gems that make the earth's dark bosom gay.
. . . rods of myrtle-buds and lemon-blooms,
And that leaf tinted lightly which assumes
The livery of unremembered snow--
Violets whose eyes have drunk-- _50

. . .