Sometimes a Venus, unarrayed
But in her beauty[1]--sometimes deckt
In costly raiment, as a maid
That kings might for a throne select.[2]
Now high and proud, like one who thought
The world should at her feet be brought;
Now with a look reproachful sad,[3]--
Unwonted look from brow so glad,--
And telling of a pain too deep
For tongue to speak or eyes to weep.
Sometimes thro' allegory's veil,
In double semblance seemed to shine,
Telling a strange and mystic tale
Of Love Profane and Love Divine[4]--
Akin in features, but in heart
As far as earth and heaven apart.
Or else (by quaint device to prove
The frailty of all worldly love)
Holding a globe of glass as thin
As air-blown bubbles in her hand,
With a young Love confined therein,
Whose wings seem waiting to expand--
And telling by her anxious eyes
That if that frail orb break he flies.[5]
Thou too with touch magnificent,
PAUL of VERONA!--where are they?
The oriental forms[6] that lent
Thy canvas such a bright array?
Noble and gorgeous dames whose dress
Seems part of their own loveliness;
Like the sun's drapery which at eve
The floating clouds around him weave
Of light they from himself receive!
Where is there now the living face
Like those that in thy nuptial throng[7]
By their superb, voluptuous grace,
Make us forget the time, the place,
The holy guests they smile among,--
Till in that feast of heaven-sent wine
We see no miracles but thine.
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