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Rapt above earth by power of one fair face,Hers in whose sway alone my heart delights,I mingle with the blest on those pure heightsWhere Man, yet mortal, rarely finds a place.With Him who made the Work that Work accordsSo well, that by its help and through his graceI raise my thoughts, inform my deeds and words,Clasping her beauty in my soul's embrace.Thus, if from two fair … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XXI. – At Florence – From Michael Angelo, By: William Wordsworth

The Baptist might have been ordained to cryForth from the towers of that huge Pile, whereinHis Father served Jehovah; but how winDue audience, how for aught but scorn defyThe obstinate pride and wanton revelryOf the Jerusalem below, her sinAnd folly, if they with united dinDrown not at once mandate and prophecy?Therefore the Voice spake from the Desert, thenceTo Her, as to her … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XX. – Before The Picture Of The Baptist, By Raphael, In The Gallery At Florence, By: William Wordsworth

"Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooksIn Vallombrosa where Etrurian shadesHigh over-arch'd embower."- Paradise Lost. "Vallombrosa, I longed in thy shadiest woodTo slumber, reclined on the moss-covered floor!"Fond wish that was granted at last, and the Flood,That lulled me asleep bids me listen once more.Its murmur how soft! as it falls down the steep,Near that Cell, … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XVIII. – At Vallombrosa, By: William Wordsworth

What aim had they, the Pair of Monks, in sizeEnormous, dragged, while side by side they sate,By panting steers up to this convent gate?How, with empurpled cheeks and pampered eyes,Dare they confront the lean austeritiesOf Brethren who, here fixed, on Jesu waitIn sackcloth, and God's anger deprecateThrough all that humbles flesh and mortifies?Strange contrast! verily the world … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XVII. – At The Eremite Or Upper Convent Of Camaldoli, By: William Wordsworth

The world forsaken, all its busy caresAnd stirring interests shunned with desperate flight,All trust abandoned in the healing mightOf virtuous action; all that courage dares,Labour accomplishes, or patience bearsThose helps rejected, they, whose minds perceiveHow subtly works man's weakness, sighs may heaveFor such a One beset with cloistral snares.Father of Mercy! rectify his … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XVI. – Continued, By: William Wordsworth