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…She； to bite her mask's black velvet…he； to finger on his sword；
While you sat and played Toccatas； stately at the clavichord？
VII。
What？ Those lesser thirds so plaintive； sixths diminished； sigh on sigh；
Told them something？ Those suspensions； those solutions…‘‘Must we die？''
Those commiserating sevenths…‘‘Life might last！ we can but try！''
VIII。
‘‘Were you happy？''…‘‘Yes。''…‘‘And are you still as happy？''…‘‘Yes。 And you？''
…‘‘Then； more kisses！''…‘‘Did _I_ stop them； when a million seemed so few？''
Hark； the dominant's persistence till it must be answered to！
IX。
So； an octave struck the answer。 Oh； they praised you； I dare say！
‘‘Brave Galuppi！ that was music！ good alike at grave and gay！
‘‘I can always leave off talking when I hear a master play！''
X。
Then they left you for their pleasure： till in due time； one by one；
Some with lives that came to nothing； some with deeds as well undone；
Death stepped tacitly and took them where they never see the sun。
XI。
But when I sit down to reason； think to take my stand nor swerve；
While I triumph o'er a secret wrung from nature's close reserve；
In you come with your cold music till I creep thro' every nerve。
XII。
Yes； you； like a ghostly cricket； creaking where a house was burned：
‘‘Dust and ashes； dead and done with； Venice spent what Venice earned。
‘‘The soul； doubtless； is immortal…where a soul can be discerned。
XIII。
‘‘Yours for instance： you know physics； something of geology；
‘‘Mathematics are your pastime； souls shall rise in their degree；
‘‘Butterflies may dread extinction；…you'll not die； it cannot be！
XIV。
‘‘As for Venice and her people； merely born to bloom and drop；
‘‘Here on earth they bore their fruitage； mirth and folly were the crop：
‘‘What of soul was left； I wonder； when the kissing had to stop？
XV。
‘‘Dust and ashes！'' So you creak it； and I want the heart to scold。
Dear dead women； with such hair； too…what's become of all the gold
Used to hang and brush their bosoms？ I feel chilly and grown old。
* 1。 An overture…a touch piece。
OLD PICTURES IN FLORENCE。
I。
The morn when first it thunders in March；
The eel in the pond gives a leap； they say：
As I leaned and looked over the aloed arch
Of the villa…gate this warm March day；
No flash snapped； no dumb thunder rolled
In the valley beneath where； white and wide
And washed by the morning water…gold；
Florence lay out on the mountain…side。
II。
River and bridge and street and square
Lay mine； as much at my beck and call；
Through the live translucent bath of air；
As the sights in a magic crystal ball。
And of all I saw and of all I praised；
The most to praise and the best to see
Was the startling bell…tower Giotto raised：
But why did it more than startle me？
III。
Giotto； how； with that soul of yours；
Could you play me false who loved you so？
Some slights if a certain heart endures
Yet it feels； I would have your fellows know！
I' faith； I perceive not why I should care
To break a silence that suits them best；
But the thing grows somewhat hard to bear
When I find a Giotto join the rest。
IV。
On the arch where olives overhead
Print the blue sky with twig and leaf；
（That sharp…curled leaf which they never shed）
'Twixt the aloes； I used to lean in chief；
And mark through the winter afternoons；
By a gift God grants me now and then；
In the mild decline of those suns like moons；
Who walked in Florence； besides her men。
V。
They might chirp and chaffer； come and go
For pleasure or profit； her men alive…
My business was hardly with them； I trow；
But with empty cells of the human hive；
…With the chapter…room； the cloister…porch；
The church's apsis； aisle or nave；
Its crypt； one fingers along with a torch；
Its face set full for the sun to shave。
VI。
Wherever a fresco peels and drops；
Wherever an outline weakens and wanes
Till the latest life in the painting stops；
Stands One whom each fainter pulse…tick pains：
One； wishful each scrap should clutch the brick；
Each tinge not wholly escape the plaster；
…A lion who dies of an ass's kick；
The wronged great soul of an ancient Master。
VII。
For oh； this world and the wrong it does
They are safe in heaven with their backs to it；
The Michaels and Rafaels； you hum and buzz
Round the works of； you of the little wit！
Do their eyes contract to the earth's old scope；
Now that they see God face to face；
And have all attained to be poets； I hope？
'Tis their holiday now； in any case。
VIII。
Much they reck of your praise and you！
But the wronged great souls…can they be quit
Of a world where their work is all to do；
Where you style them； you of the little wit；
Old Master This and Early the Other；
Not dreaming that Old and New are fellows：
A younger succeeds to an elder brother；
Da Vincis derive in good time from Dellos。
IX。
And here where your praise might yield returns；
And a handsome word or two give help；
Here； after your kind； the mastiff girns
And the puppy pack of poodles yelp。
What； not a word for Stefano there；
Of brow once prominent and starry；
Called Nature's Ape and the world's despair
For his peerless painting？ （See Vasari。）
X。
There stands the Master。 Study； my friends；
What a man's work comes to！ So he plans it；
Performs it； perfects it； makes amends
For the toiling and moiling； and then； _sic transit！_
Happier the thrifty blind…folk labour；
With upturned eye while the hand is busy；
Not sidling a glance at the coin of their neighbour！
'Tis looking downward that makes one dizzy。
XI。
‘‘If you knew their work you would deal your dole。''
May I take upon me to instruct you？
When Greek Art ran and reached the goal；
Thus much had the world to boast _in fructu_…
The Truth of Man； as by God first spoken；
Which the actual generations garble；
Was re…uttered； and Soul （which Limbs betoken）
And Limbs （Soul informs） made new in marble。
XII。
So； you saw yourself as you w