TUSCAN, that wanderest through the realms of gloom, With thoughtful pace, and sad, majestic eyes, Stern thoughts and awful from thy soul arise, Like Farinata from his fiery tomb. Thy sacred song is like the trump of doom; Yet in thy heart what human sympathies, What soft compassion glows, as in the skies The tender stars their clouded lamps relume! Methinks I see thee stand with pallid cheeks By Fra Hilario in his diocese, As up the convent-walls, in golden streaks, The ascending sunbeams mark the day's decrease; And, as he asks what there the stranger seeks, Thy voice along the cloister whispers "Peace!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GROWN-UP TALK by KATHERINE MANSFIELD CONTRA MORTEM: THE TREES by HAYDEN CARRUTH BIRTHDAY POEM FOR THOMAS HARDY by CECIL DAY LEWIS DEAD LEAVES by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON FICTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LET ME NOT HATE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SOLDIER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |