WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF SIGNOR ANGELO MICHELE NEGRELLI AND ELISABETHA NEGRELLI OF PRIMIERO WHO AFTER HAVING BEEN SIXTY FOUR YEARS MARRIED, AND HAVING EACH ATTAINED NEARLY THE AGE OF NINETY, DIED IN THE YEAR 1849 WITHIN THREE DAYS OF EACH OTHER. THEY lived through every change of wind and weather Then, within three days of each other, died "How happens it that no one with his lot PRIMIERO in the Italian TYROL, July 30, 1854. THE GATES OF SLEEP. THERE are two gates of Sleep, the poet says; When lábor ceases, every sound is hushed, Fresh Strength and ruddy Health and calm Composure The second gate is wreathed, sideposts and lintel, With odorous trailing hop, and poppystalks; The shadowy gateway paved with poppyheads. And there, all day and night, keeps watch sick Fancy The third gate is of lead, and thére sits ever Tired of herself; about her on the ground Sérmons and psalms and hymns lie numerous strewed, To the same import all, and all almost And different seem, where difference is none. At th' ópposite doorpost, on her knees, Routine And Úniformity, Oneness of faith, Óneness of laws and customs, arts and manners, And, Sélfdevelopment's unrelenting foe, Céntralisation; and behind these still, Fár in the portal's deepest gloom ensconced, Of mére, blank nought unchangeable for ever - PRIMIERO, in the Italian TYROL, July 30, 1854. DEATH'S BRIDE. "So young! so fair! so kind! so true! With heart as marble hard and cold, Stiff, stark, and cold, in nuptial white, Death's bride upon her bridal night. Walking from PRIMIERO to CASTEL DELLA BETTOLA, on the SCHENNER (Italian TYROL), Aug. 1, 1854. WRITTEN IN LA BARONESSA SOFIA FIORIO'S ALBUM. NEAR RIVA ON THE LAGO DI GARDA, AUG. 25, 1854. "COME, something for me write, Sir." "What, Lady, shall I write?" "The first thought in your head comes “Nay, náy; I vow I cánnot, SAN GIACOMO, INSCRIPTION FOR THE ALBUM IN WHICH LA BARONESSA KITTY FIORIO SKETCHED THE LIKENESSES OF HER FRIENDS. Thése of my friends are sketches Which don't pretend to art; I have their perfect pórtraits, But they're locked up in my heart. KITTY FIORIO. WRITTEN UNDER THE PRECEDING. I always knew my sister Was an adept in her art, But I never until nów knew She had a hollow heart. SOFIA FIORIO. SAN GIACOMO, near RIVA on the LAGO DI GARDA, Aug. 25, 1854. WÉT and dry and hot and cold, Só the world hath éver góne Cóme and cry with mé, Heigh hó! VILSHOFEN in BAVARIA, June 25, 1854. HE SHE AND IT. Ir happened in a distant clime Were travelling, once upon a time, Through every change of wind and weather, The first was neither young nor old, But brown and muscular, wise and bold; The sécond delicate and fair, With soft, sweet eyes, and flaxen hair; The third was inoffensive, mild And dócile as a well reared child, Pátient of wrong and in all ill And hardship uncomplaining still. The first thus to the second said: |