Artemis to Actæon (1909)/The Tomb of Ilaria Giunigi

by Edith Wharton

 

THE TOMB OF ILARIA GIUNIGI

Ilaria, thou that wert so fair and dearThat death would fain disown thee, grief made wiseWith prophecy thy husband's widowed eyes,And bade him call the master's art to rearThy perfect image on the sculptured bier,With dreaming lids, hands laid in peaceful guiseBeneath the breast that seems to fall and rise,And lips that at love's call should answer "Here!"

First-born of the Renascence, when thy soulCast the sweet robing of the flesh aside,Into these lovelier marble limbs it stole,Regenerate in art's sunrise clear and wide,As saints who, having kept faith's raiment whole,Change it above for garments glorified.