Identifier: florenceinpoetry00ryan (find matches)
Title: Florence in poetry, history and art
Year: 1913 (1910s)
Authors: Ryan, Sara Agnes
Subjects:
Publisher: Chicago, Mayer and Miller Co.
Contributing Library: Robarts - University of Toronto
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Toronto

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ed? Think ye that Raphaels angel throngHas vanished from his side? 245 Florence. 0 no! We live our life again; Or warmly touched, or coldly dim,The pictures of the Past remain,—Mans work shall follow him! —John Greenleaf Whittier. There is also a palace in Florence, the resultof Raphaels architectural labor, the PalazzaPandolfini, but in Rome remain the monumentsof his genius, the Stanza and Loggia of theVatican, and there did he die at the early ageof thirty-seven. RAPHAELS DEATHBED. Raphael speaks: What; Leos self has sentTo ask of Raphael? Kindly done; and yetThe Iron Pontiff, whom I painted thrice,Had come. No matter: these are gracious words,Rome were not Rome without me. My best thanksBack to his Holiness; and dare I addA message, twere that Rome can never beWithout me. I shall live as long as Rome.Bramarte s temple there, bequeathed to meTo hide her cross—crowned bosom in the clouds—San Pietro, travertine and marble-massedTo more than mountain majesty—shall scarce 246
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Death of Raphael Morgari Raphael. Outlast that bit of canvas. Let the light in.Theres the Ritonda waiting patientlyMy coming. Angelo has built his chapeIn Santa Croce, that his eyes may opeOn San Filippos Duomo. I would see—What think you?—Neither Dome, nor Giottos shaft,Nor yon stern Pantheons solemn sullen grace,But her, whose colors I have worn, since firstI dreamed of beauty in the chestnut shadesOf Umbria—her, for whom my best of lifeHas been one labor—her, the Nazareth-Maid,Who gave to Heaven a Queen, to man a God,To God a Mother. I have hope of it:And I would see her—not as when she propsThe Babe slow tottering to the Cross amidThe flowering field; nor yet when Sibyl-eyed,Backward she sweeps her Son from Tobits Fish;Nor een as when above the footstool-angels,She stands with trembling mouth, dilated eyes,Abashed before the uncurtained Fathers throne—But see her wearing the wrapt smile of loveHalf human, half divine, as fast she strainsHer Infant in the Chair. —Geor

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