XXV

Stand out in it, my own young Florentine,

      Not two years old, and let me see thee more!

It grows along thy amber curls, to shine

      Brighter than elsewhere. Now, look straight before,

And fix thy brave blue English eyes on mine,

      And from thy soul, which fronts the future so,

With unabashed and unabated gaze,

      Teach me to hope for, what the Angels know,

When they smile clear as thou dost. Down God's ways,

      With just alighted feet between the snow

And snowdrops, where a little lamb may graze,

      Thou hast no fear, my lamb, about the road,

Albeit in our vain-glory we assume

      That, less than we have, thou hast learnt of God.

Stand out, my blue-eyed prophet!—thou, to whom

      The earliest world-day light that ever flowed,

Through Casa Guidi windows, chanced to come!

      Now shake the glittering nimbus of thy hair,

And be God's witness;—that the elemental

      New springs of life are gushing everywhere,

To cleanse the water courses, and prevent all

Concrete obstructions which infest the air!

—That earth's alive, and gentle or ungentle

      Motions within her, signify but growth:

The ground swells greenest o'er the labouring moles.

      Howe'er the uneasy world is vexed and wroth,

Young children, lifted high on parent souls,

      Look round them with a smile upon the mouth,

And take for music every bell that tolls.

      Who said we should be better if like these?

And we... despond we for the future, though

      Posterity is smiling at our knees,

Convicting us of folly? Let us go—

      We will trust God. The blank interstices

Men take for ruins, He will build into

      With pillared marbles rare, or knit across

With generous arches, till the fane's complete.

      This world has no perdition, if some loss.