Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
II. FreedomA Court Lady
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (18061861)H
Her cheeks’ pale opal burnt with a red and restless spark.
Never was lady of Italy fairer to see in the face.
Larger in judgment and instinct, prouder in manners and life.
That silken robe made ready to wear at the court of the king.
Clasp me the large at the waist, and clasp me the small at the throat.
Laces to drop from their rays, like a powder of snow from the eaves.”
While straight, in her open carriage, she to the hospital came.
“Many and low are the pallets, but each is the place of a friend.”
Bloody the band on his brow, and livid the droop of his head.
And smiled like Italy on him: he dreamed in her face and died.
He was a grave, hard man, whose years by dungeons were reckoned.
“Art thou a Romagnole?” Her eyes drove lightnings before her.
Able to bind thee, O strong one,—free by the stroke of a sword.
To ripen our wine of the present (too new) in glooms of the past.”
Young, pathetic with dying,—a deep black hole in the curls.
Thy mother stand in the piazza, searching the list of the slain?”
“Blessèd is she who has borne thee, although she should weep as she stands.”
Kneeling,… “O more than my brother! how shall I thank thee for all?
But thou hast fought for a stranger, in hate of a wrong not thine.
But blessèd are those among nations who dare to be strong for the rest!”
One with a face from Venetia, white with a hope out of mind.
But two great crystal tears were all that faltered and came.
And stooped to his forehead and kissed it, as if she were kissing the cross.
Stern and strong in his death. “And dost thou suffer, my brother?”
Cometh the sweetness of freedom! sweetest to live or to die on.”
In noble, noble Piedmont, who would not be noble alone.”
“That was a Piedmontese! and this is the Court of the King.”