Leaving the church, with gesture tender, sweet, Your noble hands throw gold unto the poor; Your beauty brightens all the porch obscure, And fills with Heaven's gold the dazzled street. Saluting you, I humbly at your feet Throw down my heart; yet you so proud and pure Turn quick away; your veil you fast secure In anger o'er your eyes, mine not to meet! But love, which conquers hearts that most rebel, Will not permit me in the gloom to dwell The source of light to me refusing day; You were so flow to draw the graceful shade Of tremulous eyelash, which deep shadows made That from the darkness shot a star's long ray. |