Miranda’s Tomb
MIRANDA? She died soon, and sick for home.
And dark Ilario the Milanese
Carved her in garments 'scutcheoned to the knees,
Holding one orchard-spray as fresh as foam.
One heart broke, many grieved. Ilario said:
'The summer is gone after her. Who knows
If any season shall renew his rose?
But this rose lives till Beauty's self be dead.'
So wrought he, days and years, and half aware
Of a small, striving, sorrowing quick thing,
Wrapped in a furred sea-cloak, and deft to bring
Tools to his hand or light to the dull air.
Ghost, spirit, flame, he knew not,–could but tell
It had loved her, and its name was Ariel.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Added by Poetry Lover
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