. A masque of dead Florentines : wherein some of death's choicest pieces, and the great game that he played therewith, are fruitfully set forth. 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
. A masque of dead Florentines : wherein some of death's choicest pieces, and the great game that he played therewith, are fruitfully set forth. 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 Then come the house of Medici, hirst is Giuliano de Mcdui inhunters green. He carries a broken shaft in his hand. Following him are-seven lads (sons of princes) dressed in sables. Giuliano. Once as a tiger-whelp I was athirst, And gnawd the breast where kindly I was nursd. But thirstier the blades that cut me red, And sent me shaggy to the secret dead. Retribution. 36 A Masque of Dead Florentines ThenCLARICEORSINI;a grey - hairdwoman bowedbeneath a goldenyoke. And thenLORENZO asa king crownedwith thorns andholding a leadensceptre. The Seven Princes. Swart as the heart of the South, Proud as the rock-springing pine, Sweet water coold never thy drouth, Nor fruit of the vine ! Last of old Cosimds line, Cut off quick in thy youth, Thy blood was outpourd like wine ; They showd thee no ruth, Who in life had none for the old, nor the roses of youth. Cl
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookpublisherlondo, bookyear1895
