Give back the buried face once angel-bright,
    That taxed all Nature’s art and industry. 
O Love! an old man finds it hard to chase
    Thy flying pinions!  Thou hast left thy nest;
    Nor is my heart as light as heretofore. 
Put thy gold arrows to the string once more: 
    Then if Death hear my prayer and grant me grace,
    My grief I shall forget, again made blest.

LII.

CELESTIAL LOVE.

Non vider gli occhi miei.

I saw no mortal beauty with these eyes
    When perfect peace in thy fair eyes I found;
    But far within, where all is holy ground,
    My soul felt Love, her comrade of the skies: 
For she was born with God in Paradise;
    Else should we still to transient loves be bound;
    But, finding these so false, we pass beyond
    Unto the Love of Loves that never dies. 
Nay, things that die, cannot assuage the thirst
    Of souls undying; nor Eternity
    Serves Time, where all must fade that flourisheth. 
Sense is not love, but lawlessness accurst: 
    This kills the soul; while our love lifts on high
    Our friends on earth—­higher in heaven through death.

LIII.

CELESTIAL AND EARTHLY LOVE.

Non e sempre di colpa.

Love is not always harsh and deadly sin: 
    If it be love of loveliness divine,
    It leaves the heart all soft and infantine
    For rays of God’s own grace to enter in. 
Love fits the soul with wings, and bids her win
    Her flight aloft nor e’er to earth decline;
    ’Tis the first step that leads her to the shrine
    Of Him who slakes the thirst that burns within. 
The love of that whereof I speak, ascends: 
    Woman is different far; the love of her
    But ill befits a heart all manly wise. 
The one love soars, the other downward tends;
    The soul lights this, while that the senses stir,
    And still his arrow at base quarry flies.

LIV.

LOVE LIFTS TO GOD.

Veggio nel tuo bel viso.

From thy fair face I learn, O my loved lord,
    That which no mortal tongue can rightly say;
    The soul, imprisoned in her house of clay,
    Holpen by thee to God hath often soared: 
And though the vulgar, vain, malignant horde
    Attribute what their grosser wills obey,
    Yet shall this fervent homage that I pay,
    This love, this faith, pure joys for us afford. 
Lo, all the lovely things we find on earth,
    Resemble for the soul that rightly sees,
    That source of bliss divine which gave us birth: 
Nor have we first-fruits or remembrances
    Of heaven elsewhere.  Thus, loving loyally,
    I rise to God and make death sweet by thee.