Botticelli’s Madonna in the Louvre (Edith Wharton Poems)
WHAT strange presentiment, O Mother, liesOn thy waste brow and sadly-folded lips,Forefeeling the Light's terrible eclipseOn Calvary, as if love ...
WHAT strange presentiment, O Mother, liesOn thy waste brow and sadly-folded lips,Forefeeling the Light's terrible eclipseOn Calvary, as if love ...
Now the high holocaust of hours is done,And all the west empurpled with their death,How swift oblivion drinks the fallen ...
Age after age the fruit of knowledge fallsTo ashes on men's lips;Love fails, faith sickens, like a dying treeLife sheds ...
WHAT strange presentiment, O Mother, liesOn thy waste brow and sadly-folded lips,Forefeeling the Light's terrible eclipseOn Calvary, as if love ...
Here by the ample river's argent sweep,Bosomed in tilth and vintage to her walls,A tower-crowned Cybele in armoured sleepThe city ...
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