. A masque of dead Florentines : wherein some of death's choicest pieces, and the great game that he played therewith, are fruitfully set forth. BONIET AALI 30 A Masque of Dead Florentines Then comes La Simonetta, as a virgin of lovely sorrowful countenance,in a white robe. Round her loins is a black snake that carries his tail everin his mouth. She bears a chaplet of yew ; and is attended by seven youngmaids in mourning weeds. Grkf oj Simonetta. SIMi Once a virgin of virgins,Crownd as with fire, and pale,I stoopt to my own undoing,I lay as corn to the flail. The Se even. As a lily-stalk snapt
. A masque of dead Florentines : wherein some of death's choicest pieces, and the great game that he played therewith, are fruitfully set forth. BONIET AALI 30 A Masque of Dead Florentines Then comes La Simonetta, as a virgin of lovely sorrowful countenance,in a white robe. Round her loins is a black snake that carries his tail everin his mouth. She bears a chaplet of yew ; and is attended by seven youngmaids in mourning weeds. Grkf oj Simonetta. SIMi Once a virgin of virgins,Crownd as with fire, and pale,I stoopt to my own undoing,I lay as corn to the flail. The Se even. As a lily-stalk snapt by hailShe fell to her girdles tears could A Masque of Dead Florentines 33 SlMONETTA. As the hawk on his wrist he was hard,As the quails my blithsomeness froze;I stood ashamd in the pasture,My eyes were wide as the roes. The Seven. With her lapful of flowers she uprose :All tenderly white was her vesture,She blushd like a rose. SlMONETTA. I was wood in the time of wild crocus,I sank with a trembling of knees ;He took me up on his pillionAnd rode away thro the trees. The Seven. The willow must bend to the breeze !She pined in her kings pavilion,She longed for her peace. 34 A Masque of Dead Florentines Oh, the land swept black by the shower,The lash and the rain !She bowd like a tired sweet flower,She moand for her pain ! SlMONETTA. Because, being fairer than the dawn, I trodThe flowery way that lures a soul from God,And gaged my youth against mans hardihead ;Therefore I wear the bleak smile of the dead. Chorus. Blind. Blind, blind, blind ! As monk in his cell; Blind as the Corn-mothers child That played by the mouth of Hell. KA
Size: 1720px × 1452px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookdecade1890, bookidofdeadflormasque00hewlrich, bookyear1895
