Poem by Louise Imogen Guiney

A Madonna of Domenico Ghirlandajo

LET thoughts go hence as from a mountain spring,
Of the great dust of battle clean and whole,
And the wild birds that have no nest nor goal
Fold in a young man’s breast their trancèd wing;
For thou art made of purest Light, a thing
Art gave, beyond her own devout control;
And Light upon thy seeing, suffering soul
Hath wrought a sign for many journeying;
Our sign. As up a wayside, after rain,
When the blown beeches purple all the height
And clouds sink to the sea-marge, suddenly
The autumn sun (how soft, how solemn-bright!)
Moves to the vacant dial, so is lain
God’s meaning Hand, thou chosen, upon thee.

1. Florentin
2. Peter Rugg the Bostonian
3. Writ in My Lord Clarendon’s “History of the Rebellion”
4. Vergniaud in the Tumbril
5. Friendship Broken

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