A Woman's Choice.
33
"Choir invisible," all glorious, had she writ but this alone,
To the coming generations should her name be loved and known.
Cold, bleak winds come sweeping o'er me, densest clouds are passing by,
As I tread the heathered moorland, 'neath a leaden Yorkshire sky;
And I see a low, stone building, with an ancient churchyard near,
Where, though dreary all the aspect, life itself is yet more drear.
Only genius's alembic, from such life could e'er distill
Joy to others, so that, dying, in our hearts she liveth still.
But a brighter picture wooes me, bids me yet again to roam,
Shows me Tuscan scenes,—fair Florence,—fairer still a light of home.
Casa Guidi,—there I see her,—slender, fragile English flower,
All too fragile, yet in spirit blessed with richest, rarest dower.
To the coming generations should her name be loved and known.
Cold, bleak winds come sweeping o'er me, densest clouds are passing by,
As I tread the heathered moorland, 'neath a leaden Yorkshire sky;
And I see a low, stone building, with an ancient churchyard near,
Where, though dreary all the aspect, life itself is yet more drear.
Only genius's alembic, from such life could e'er distill
Joy to others, so that, dying, in our hearts she liveth still.
But a brighter picture wooes me, bids me yet again to roam,
Shows me Tuscan scenes,—fair Florence,—fairer still a light of home.
Casa Guidi,—there I see her,—slender, fragile English flower,
All too fragile, yet in spirit blessed with richest, rarest dower.
