The Artist's Search for Beauty.
39
The happy months sped on, their home made bright
With light of love, and love of all things fair.
How quick the days passed by with Angela
To cheer and stimulate Francesco's toil!
With light of love, and love of all things fair.
How quick the days passed by with Angela
To cheer and stimulate Francesco's toil!
The shapeless stones before him came to life
In forms of beauty. Yet before him still
He saw a vision of diviner mould—
The figure of "Italia," in whose face
He meant to set the look of Angela
Idealized, in which rare master-piece
He would embody all his love for her,
For Italy, his country, and for art.
A happy year was that, with heart at rest,
With earnest toil, with pleasant twilight strolls
On the broad Ponte, in the evenings cool,
Or to see Giotto's work against the sky,
The slender, airy, graceful Campanile;
And on the festa days, with happy throngs,
To wander in the warm, transparent air.
But when the year had flown, Angela too
Had left him, leaving but an infant frail,
Ere yet his master-piece was quite complete.
It lacked expression. In its soulless face,
In forms of beauty. Yet before him still
He saw a vision of diviner mould—
The figure of "Italia," in whose face
He meant to set the look of Angela
Idealized, in which rare master-piece
He would embody all his love for her,
For Italy, his country, and for art.
A happy year was that, with heart at rest,
With earnest toil, with pleasant twilight strolls
On the broad Ponte, in the evenings cool,
Or to see Giotto's work against the sky,
The slender, airy, graceful Campanile;
And on the festa days, with happy throngs,
To wander in the warm, transparent air.
But when the year had flown, Angela too
Had left him, leaving but an infant frail,
Ere yet his master-piece was quite complete.
It lacked expression. In its soulless face,
