From the bright scripture of that present book

Wherein his tired grand eyes got power to trace

Comfort more sweet than youth,

And hope whose child was truth,

And love that brought forth sorrow for a space,

Only that she might bear

Joy: these things, written there,

Made even his soul's high heaven a heavenlier place,

Perused with eyes whose glory and glow

Had in their fires the spirit of Michael Angelo.

44.

With balms and dews of blessing he consoled

The fair fame wounded by the black priest's fang,

Giovanna's, and washed off her blithe and bold

Boy-bridegroom's blood, that seemed so long to hang

On her fair hand, even till the stain of old

Was cleansed with healing song, that after sang

Sharp truth by sweetest singers' lips untold

Of pale Beatrice, though her death-note rang

From other strings divine

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