https://sonett.fontane-place.de/ Mon, 29 Jun 2026 01:11:48 +0000 MyBB https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=17308 Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:36:58 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=17308
I
(TO M.F.R.)

SISTER, first shake we off the dust we have
Upon our feet, lest it defile the stones
Inscriptured, covering their sacred bones
Who lie i' the aisles which keep the names they gave,

Their trust abiding round them in the grave;
Whom painters paint for visible orisons,
And to whom sculptors pray in stone and bronze;
Their voices echo still like a spent wave.

Without here, the church-bells are but a tune,
And on the carven church-door this hot noon
Lays all its heavy sunshine here without:

But having entered in, we shall find there
Silence, and sudden dimness, and deep prayer,
And faces of crowned angels all about.


II
(TO C.G.R.)

SISTER, arise: We have no more to sing
Or say. The priest abideth as is meet
To minister. Rise up out of thy seat,
Though peradventure 'tis an irksome thing

To cross again the threshold of our King
Where His doors stand against the evil street,
And let each step increase upon our feet
The dust we shook from them at entering.

Must we of very sooth go home? The air,
Whose heat outside makes mist that can be seen,
Is very clear and cool where we have been.

The priest abideth ministering. Lo!
As he for service, why not we for prayer?
It is so bidden, sister, let us go.]]>
I
(TO M.F.R.)

SISTER, first shake we off the dust we have
Upon our feet, lest it defile the stones
Inscriptured, covering their sacred bones
Who lie i' the aisles which keep the names they gave,

Their trust abiding round them in the grave;
Whom painters paint for visible orisons,
And to whom sculptors pray in stone and bronze;
Their voices echo still like a spent wave.

Without here, the church-bells are but a tune,
And on the carven church-door this hot noon
Lays all its heavy sunshine here without:

But having entered in, we shall find there
Silence, and sudden dimness, and deep prayer,
And faces of crowned angels all about.


II
(TO C.G.R.)

SISTER, arise: We have no more to sing
Or say. The priest abideth as is meet
To minister. Rise up out of thy seat,
Though peradventure 'tis an irksome thing

To cross again the threshold of our King
Where His doors stand against the evil street,
And let each step increase upon our feet
The dust we shook from them at entering.

Must we of very sooth go home? The air,
Whose heat outside makes mist that can be seen,
Is very clear and cool where we have been.

The priest abideth ministering. Lo!
As he for service, why not we for prayer?
It is so bidden, sister, let us go.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=17307 Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:36:16 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=17307 BY INGRES


I
A REMOTE sky, prolonged to the sea's brim:
One rock-point standing buffeted alone,
Vexed at its base with a foul beast unknown,
Hell-birth of geomaunt and teraphim:

A knight, and a winged creature bearing him,
Reared at the rock: a woman fettered there,
Leaning into the hollow with loose hair
And throat let back and heartsick trail of limb.

The sky is harsh, and the sea shrewd and salt:
Under his lord the griffin-horse ramps blind
With rigid wings and tail. The spear's lithe stem

Thrills in the roaring of those jaws: behind,
That evil length of body chafes at fault.
She does not hear nor see—she knows of them.


II
CLENCH thine eyes now,—'tis the last instant, girl:
Draw in thy senses, set thy knees, and take
One breath for all: thy life is keen awake,—
Thou mayst not swoon. Was that the scattered whirl

Of its foam drenched thee?—or the waves that curl
And split, bleak spray wherein thy temples ache?
Or was it his the champion's blood to flake
Thy flesh?—or thine own blood's anointing, girl?

Now, silence: for the sea's is such a sound
As irks not silence; and except the sea,
All now is still. Now the dead thing doth cease

To writhe, and drifts. He turns to her: and she,
Cast from the jaws of Death, remains there, bound,
Again a woman in her nakedness.]]> BY INGRES


I
A REMOTE sky, prolonged to the sea's brim:
One rock-point standing buffeted alone,
Vexed at its base with a foul beast unknown,
Hell-birth of geomaunt and teraphim:

A knight, and a winged creature bearing him,
Reared at the rock: a woman fettered there,
Leaning into the hollow with loose hair
And throat let back and heartsick trail of limb.

The sky is harsh, and the sea shrewd and salt:
Under his lord the griffin-horse ramps blind
With rigid wings and tail. The spear's lithe stem

Thrills in the roaring of those jaws: behind,
That evil length of body chafes at fault.
She does not hear nor see—she knows of them.


II
CLENCH thine eyes now,—'tis the last instant, girl:
Draw in thy senses, set thy knees, and take
One breath for all: thy life is keen awake,—
Thou mayst not swoon. Was that the scattered whirl

Of its foam drenched thee?—or the waves that curl
And split, bleak spray wherein thy temples ache?
Or was it his the champion's blood to flake
Thy flesh?—or thine own blood's anointing, girl?

Now, silence: for the sea's is such a sound
As irks not silence; and except the sea,
All now is still. Now the dead thing doth cease

To writhe, and drifts. He turns to her: and she,
Cast from the jaws of Death, remains there, bound,
Again a woman in her nakedness.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=17306 Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:35:11 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=17306 (For a Drawing *)


I

REND, rend thine hair, Cassandra: he will go.
Yea, rend thy garments, wring thine hands, and cry
From Troy still towered to the unreddened sky.
See, all but she that bore thee mock thy woe:—

He most whom that fair woman arms, with show
Of wrath on her bent brows; for in this place
This hour thou bad'st all men in Helen's face
The ravished ravishing prize of Death to know.

What eyes, what ears hath sweet Andromache,
Save for her Hector's form and step; as tear
On tear make salt the warm last kiss he gave?

He goes. Cassandra's words beat heavily
Like crows above his crest, and at his ear
Ring hollow in the shield that shall not save.


II

“O HECTOR, gone, gone, gone! O Hector, thee
Two chariots wait, in Troy long bless'd and curs'd;
And Grecian spear and Phrygian sand athirst
Crave from thy veins the blood of victory.

Lo! long upon our hearth the brand had we,
Lit for the roof-tree's ruin: and to-day
The ground-stone quits the wall,—the wind hath way,—
And higher and higher the wings of fire are free.

“O Paris, Paris! O thou burning brand,
Thou beacon of the sea whence Venus rose,
Lighting thy race to shipwreck! Even that hand

Wherewith she took thine apple let her close
Within thy curls at last, and while Troy glows
Lift thee her trophy to the sea and land.”]]> (For a Drawing *)


I

REND, rend thine hair, Cassandra: he will go.
Yea, rend thy garments, wring thine hands, and cry
From Troy still towered to the unreddened sky.
See, all but she that bore thee mock thy woe:—

He most whom that fair woman arms, with show
Of wrath on her bent brows; for in this place
This hour thou bad'st all men in Helen's face
The ravished ravishing prize of Death to know.

What eyes, what ears hath sweet Andromache,
Save for her Hector's form and step; as tear
On tear make salt the warm last kiss he gave?

He goes. Cassandra's words beat heavily
Like crows above his crest, and at his ear
Ring hollow in the shield that shall not save.


II

“O HECTOR, gone, gone, gone! O Hector, thee
Two chariots wait, in Troy long bless'd and curs'd;
And Grecian spear and Phrygian sand athirst
Crave from thy veins the blood of victory.

Lo! long upon our hearth the brand had we,
Lit for the roof-tree's ruin: and to-day
The ground-stone quits the wall,—the wind hath way,—
And higher and higher the wings of fire are free.

“O Paris, Paris! O thou burning brand,
Thou beacon of the sea whence Venus rose,
Lighting thy race to shipwreck! Even that hand

Wherewith she took thine apple let her close
Within thy curls at last, and while Troy glows
Lift thee her trophy to the sea and land.”]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32258 Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:33:10 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32258  

VI
TO THE P.R.B.

WOOLNER and Stephens, Collinson, Millais,
And my first brother, each and every one,
What portion is theirs now beneath the sun
Which, even as here, in England makes to-day?

For most of them life runs not the same way
Always, but leaves the thought at loss: I know
Merely that Woolner keeps not even the show
Of work, nor is enough awake for play.

Meanwhile Hunt and myself race at full speed
Along the Louvre, and yawn from school to school,
Wishing worn-out those masters known as old.

And no man asks of Browning; though indeed
(As the book travels with me) any fool
Who would might hear Sordello's story told.
 

.]]>  

VI
TO THE P.R.B.

WOOLNER and Stephens, Collinson, Millais,
And my first brother, each and every one,
What portion is theirs now beneath the sun
Which, even as here, in England makes to-day?

For most of them life runs not the same way
Always, but leaves the thought at loss: I know
Merely that Woolner keeps not even the show
Of work, nor is enough awake for play.

Meanwhile Hunt and myself race at full speed
Along the Louvre, and yawn from school to school,
Wishing worn-out those masters known as old.

And no man asks of Browning; though indeed
(As the book travels with me) any fool
Who would might hear Sordello's story told.
 

.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32257 Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:33:10 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32257  

V
ON A HANDFUL OF FRENCH MONEY

THESE coins that jostle on my hand do own
No single image: each name here and date
Denoting in man's consciousness and state
New change. In some, the face is clearly known,—

In others marred. The badge of that old throne
Of Kings is on the obverse; or this sign
Which says, “I France am all—lo, I am mine!”
Or else the Eagle that dared soar alone.

Even as these coins, so are these lives and years
Mixed and bewildered; yet hath each of them
No less its part in what is come to be

For France. Empire, Republic, Monarchy,—
Each clamours or keeps silence in her name,
And lives within the pulse that now is hers.
 

.]]>  

V
ON A HANDFUL OF FRENCH MONEY

THESE coins that jostle on my hand do own
No single image: each name here and date
Denoting in man's consciousness and state
New change. In some, the face is clearly known,—

In others marred. The badge of that old throne
Of Kings is on the obverse; or this sign
Which says, “I France am all—lo, I am mine!”
Or else the Eagle that dared soar alone.

Even as these coins, so are these lives and years
Mixed and bewildered; yet hath each of them
No less its part in what is come to be

For France. Empire, Republic, Monarchy,—
Each clamours or keeps silence in her name,
And lives within the pulse that now is hers.
 

.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32256 Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:33:10 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32256  
IV
PLACE DE LA BASTILLE, PARIS

HOW dear the sky has been above this place!
Small treasures of this sky that we see here
Seen weak through prison-bars from year to year;
Eyed with a painful prayer upon God's grace

To save, and tears which stayed along the face
Lifted at sunset. Yea, how passing dear
Those nights when through the bars a wind left clear
The heaven, and moonlight soothed the limpid space!

So was it, till one night the secret kept
Safe in low vault and stealthy corridor
Was blown abroad on gospel-tongues of flame.

O ways of God, mysterious evermore!
How many on this spot have cursed and wept
That all might stand here now and own Thy Name.


.]]>  
IV
PLACE DE LA BASTILLE, PARIS

HOW dear the sky has been above this place!
Small treasures of this sky that we see here
Seen weak through prison-bars from year to year;
Eyed with a painful prayer upon God's grace

To save, and tears which stayed along the face
Lifted at sunset. Yea, how passing dear
Those nights when through the bars a wind left clear
The heaven, and moonlight soothed the limpid space!

So was it, till one night the secret kept
Safe in low vault and stealthy corridor
Was blown abroad on gospel-tongues of flame.

O ways of God, mysterious evermore!
How many on this spot have cursed and wept
That all might stand here now and own Thy Name.


.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32255 Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:33:10 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32255  

IX
LAST SONNETS AT PARIS
 
I
CHINS that might serve the new Jerusalem;
Streets footsore; minute whisking milliners,
Dubbed graceful, but at whom one's eye demurs,
Knowing of England; ladies, much the same;

Bland smiling dogs with manes—a few of them
At pains to look like sporting characters;
Vast humming tabbies smothered in their furs;
Groseille, orgeat, meringues à la crême—

Good things to study; ditto bad—the maps
Of sloshy colour in the Louvre; cinq-francs
The largest coin; and at the restaurants

Large Ibrahim Pachas in Turkish caps
To pocket them. Un million d'habitants:
Cast up, they'll make an Englishman—perhaps.
 

.]]>  

IX
LAST SONNETS AT PARIS
 
I
CHINS that might serve the new Jerusalem;
Streets footsore; minute whisking milliners,
Dubbed graceful, but at whom one's eye demurs,
Knowing of England; ladies, much the same;

Bland smiling dogs with manes—a few of them
At pains to look like sporting characters;
Vast humming tabbies smothered in their furs;
Groseille, orgeat, meringues à la crême—

Good things to study; ditto bad—the maps
Of sloshy colour in the Louvre; cinq-francs
The largest coin; and at the restaurants

Large Ibrahim Pachas in Turkish caps
To pocket them. Un million d'habitants:
Cast up, they'll make an Englishman—perhaps.
 

.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32254 Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:33:10 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32254  

IX
LAST SONNETS AT PARIS
 
II

Tiled floors in bedrooms; trees (now run to seed—
Such seed as the wind takes) of Liberty;
Squares with new names that no one seems to see;
Scrambling Briarean passages, which lead

To the first place you came from; urgent need
Of unperturbed nasal philosophy;
Through Paris (what with church and gallery)
Some forty first-rate paintings,—or indeed

Fifty mayhap; fine churches; splendid inns;
Fierce sentinels (toy-size without the stands)
Who spit their oaths at you and grind their r's

If at a fountain you would wash your hands;
One Frenchman (this is fact) who thinks he spars:—
Can even good dinners cover all these sins?


 .]]>  

IX
LAST SONNETS AT PARIS
 
II

Tiled floors in bedrooms; trees (now run to seed—
Such seed as the wind takes) of Liberty;
Squares with new names that no one seems to see;
Scrambling Briarean passages, which lead

To the first place you came from; urgent need
Of unperturbed nasal philosophy;
Through Paris (what with church and gallery)
Some forty first-rate paintings,—or indeed

Fifty mayhap; fine churches; splendid inns;
Fierce sentinels (toy-size without the stands)
Who spit their oaths at you and grind their r's

If at a fountain you would wash your hands;
One Frenchman (this is fact) who thinks he spars:—
Can even good dinners cover all these sins?


 .]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32253 Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:33:10 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32253  
IX
LAST SONNETS AT PARIS
 
III

Yet in the mighty French metropolis
Our time has not gone from us utterly
In waste. The wise man saith, “An ample fee
For toil, to work thine end.” Aye that it is.

Should England ask, “Was narrow prejudice
Stretched to its utmost point unflinchingly,
Even unto lying, at all times, by ye?”
We can say firmly: “Lord, thou knowest this,

Our soil may own us.” Having but small French,
Hunt passed for a stern Spartan all the while,
Uncompromising, of few words: for me—

I think I was accounted generally
A fool, and just a little cracked. Thy smile
May light on us, Britannia, healthy wench.
 


.]]>  
IX
LAST SONNETS AT PARIS
 
III

Yet in the mighty French metropolis
Our time has not gone from us utterly
In waste. The wise man saith, “An ample fee
For toil, to work thine end.” Aye that it is.

Should England ask, “Was narrow prejudice
Stretched to its utmost point unflinchingly,
Even unto lying, at all times, by ye?”
We can say firmly: “Lord, thou knowest this,

Our soil may own us.” Having but small French,
Hunt passed for a stern Spartan all the while,
Uncompromising, of few words: for me—

I think I was accounted generally
A fool, and just a little cracked. Thy smile
May light on us, Britannia, healthy wench.
 


.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32252 Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:33:10 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32252  

XIX
ASHORE AT DOVER

On landing, the first voice one hears is from
An English police-constable; a man
Respectful, conscious that at need he can
Enforce respect. Our custom-house at home

Strict too, but quiet. Not the foul-mouthed scum
Of passport-mongers who in Paris still
Preserve the Reign of Terror; not the till
Where the King haggles, all through Belgium.

The country somehow seems in earnest here,
Grave and sufficient:—England, so to speak;
No other word will make the thing as clear.

“Ah! habit,” you exclaim, “and prejudice!”
If so, so be it. One don't care to shriek,
“Sir, this shall be!” But one believes it is.


.]]>  

XIX
ASHORE AT DOVER

On landing, the first voice one hears is from
An English police-constable; a man
Respectful, conscious that at need he can
Enforce respect. Our custom-house at home

Strict too, but quiet. Not the foul-mouthed scum
Of passport-mongers who in Paris still
Preserve the Reign of Terror; not the till
Where the King haggles, all through Belgium.

The country somehow seems in earnest here,
Grave and sufficient:—England, so to speak;
No other word will make the thing as clear.

“Ah! habit,” you exclaim, “and prejudice!”
If so, so be it. One don't care to shriek,
“Sir, this shall be!” But one believes it is.


.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32251 Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:33:10 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32251  

XVIII
ON LEAVING BRUGES

THE city's steeple-towers remove away,
Each singly; as each vain infatuate Faith
Leaves God in heaven, and passes. A mere breath
Each soon appears, so far. Yet that which lay

The first is now scarce further or more grey
Than the last is. Now all are wholly gone.
The sunless sky has not once had the sun
Since the first weak beginning of the day.

The air falls back as the wind finishes,
And the clouds stagnate. On the water's face
The current breathes along, but is not stirred.

There is no branch that thrills with any bird.
Winter is to possess the earth a space,
And have its will upon the extreme seas.

 

.]]>  

XVIII
ON LEAVING BRUGES

THE city's steeple-towers remove away,
Each singly; as each vain infatuate Faith
Leaves God in heaven, and passes. A mere breath
Each soon appears, so far. Yet that which lay

The first is now scarce further or more grey
Than the last is. Now all are wholly gone.
The sunless sky has not once had the sun
Since the first weak beginning of the day.

The air falls back as the wind finishes,
And the clouds stagnate. On the water's face
The current breathes along, but is not stirred.

There is no branch that thrills with any bird.
Winter is to possess the earth a space,
And have its will upon the extreme seas.

 

.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32250 Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:33:10 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32250  

XV
RETURNING TO BRUSSELS

UPON a Flemish road, when noon was deep,
I passed a little consecrated shrine,
Where, among simple pictures ranged in line,
The blessed Mary holds her child asleep.

To kneel here, shepherd-maidens leave their sheep
When they feel grave because of the sunshine,
And again kneel here in the day's decline;
And here, when their life ails them, come to weep.

Night being full, I passed on the same road
By the same shrine; within, a lamp was lit
Which through the silence of clear darkness glowed.

Thus, when life's heat is past and doubts arise
Darkling, the lamp of Faith must strengthen it,
Which sometimes will not light and sometimes dies.
 


.]]>  

XV
RETURNING TO BRUSSELS

UPON a Flemish road, when noon was deep,
I passed a little consecrated shrine,
Where, among simple pictures ranged in line,
The blessed Mary holds her child asleep.

To kneel here, shepherd-maidens leave their sheep
When they feel grave because of the sunshine,
And again kneel here in the day's decline;
And here, when their life ails them, come to weep.

Night being full, I passed on the same road
By the same shrine; within, a lamp was lit
Which through the silence of clear darkness glowed.

Thus, when life's heat is past and doubts arise
Darkling, the lamp of Faith must strengthen it,
Which sometimes will not light and sometimes dies.
 


.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32249 Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:33:10 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32249  

XIV
ON THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

SO then, the name which travels side by side
With English life from childhood—Waterloo—
Means this. The sun is setting. “Their strife grew
Till the sunset, and ended,” says our guide.

It lacked the “chord” by stage-use sanctified,
Yet I believe one should have thrilled. For me,
I grinned not, and 'twas something;—certainly
These held their point, and did not turn but died:

So much is very well. “Under each span
Of these ploughed fields” ('tis the guide still) “there rot
Three nations' slain, a thousand-thousandfold.”

Am I to weep? Good sirs, the earth is old:
Of the whole earth there is no single spot
But hath among its dust the dust of man.
 

.]]>  

XIV
ON THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

SO then, the name which travels side by side
With English life from childhood—Waterloo—
Means this. The sun is setting. “Their strife grew
Till the sunset, and ended,” says our guide.

It lacked the “chord” by stage-use sanctified,
Yet I believe one should have thrilled. For me,
I grinned not, and 'twas something;—certainly
These held their point, and did not turn but died:

So much is very well. “Under each span
Of these ploughed fields” ('tis the guide still) “there rot
Three nations' slain, a thousand-thousandfold.”

Am I to weep? Good sirs, the earth is old:
Of the whole earth there is no single spot
But hath among its dust the dust of man.
 

.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32248 Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:33:10 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32248  

XII

ON THE ROAD TO WATERLOO: 17 OCTOBER
(EN VIGILANTE, 2 HOURS)

IT is grey tingling azure overhead
With silver drift. Beneath, where from the green
The trees are reared, the distance stands between
At peace: and on this side the whole is spread

For sowing and for harvest, subjected
Clear to the sky and wind. The sun's slow height
Holds it through noon, and at the furthest night
It lies to the moist starshine and is fed.

Sometimes there is no country seen (for miles
You think) because of the near roadside path
Dense with long forest. Where the waters run

They have the sky sunk into them—a bath
Of still blue heat; and in their flow, at whiles,
There is a blinding vortex of the sun.
 

.]]>  

XII

ON THE ROAD TO WATERLOO: 17 OCTOBER
(EN VIGILANTE, 2 HOURS)

IT is grey tingling azure overhead
With silver drift. Beneath, where from the green
The trees are reared, the distance stands between
At peace: and on this side the whole is spread

For sowing and for harvest, subjected
Clear to the sky and wind. The sun's slow height
Holds it through noon, and at the furthest night
It lies to the moist starshine and is fed.

Sometimes there is no country seen (for miles
You think) because of the near roadside path
Dense with long forest. Where the waters run

They have the sky sunk into them—a bath
Of still blue heat; and in their flow, at whiles,
There is a blinding vortex of the sun.
 

.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32247 Sun, 23 Sep 2007 11:33:10 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=32247
VIII
LAST VISIT TO THE LOUVRE
THE CRY OF THE P.R.B., AFTER A CAREFUL EXAMINATION OF THE
CANVASES OF RUBENS, CORREGGIO,et hoc genus omne.

NON NOI PITTORI! God of Nature's truth,
If these, not we! Be it not said, when one
Of us goes hence: “As these did, he hath done;
His feet sought out their footprints from his youth.”

Because, dear God! the flesh Thou madest smooth
These carked and fretted, that it seemed to run
With ulcers; and the daylight of thy sun
They parcelled into blots and glares, uncouth

With stagnant grouts of paint. Men say that these
Had further sight than man's, but that God saw
Their works were good. God that didst know them foul!

In such a blindness, blinder than the owl,
Leave us! Our sight can reach unto thy seas
And hills: and 'tis enough for tears of awe.

.]]>
VIII
LAST VISIT TO THE LOUVRE
THE CRY OF THE P.R.B., AFTER A CAREFUL EXAMINATION OF THE
CANVASES OF RUBENS, CORREGGIO,et hoc genus omne.

NON NOI PITTORI! God of Nature's truth,
If these, not we! Be it not said, when one
Of us goes hence: “As these did, he hath done;
His feet sought out their footprints from his youth.”

Because, dear God! the flesh Thou madest smooth
These carked and fretted, that it seemed to run
With ulcers; and the daylight of thy sun
They parcelled into blots and glares, uncouth

With stagnant grouts of paint. Men say that these
Had further sight than man's, but that God saw
Their works were good. God that didst know them foul!

In such a blindness, blinder than the owl,
Leave us! Our sight can reach unto thy seas
And hills: and 'tis enough for tears of awe.

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