ON THE VIRGIN'S BOSOM .

The sun was white in all the streets of Florence,
His splendor burned upon the bridge and river,
While fate rained down her pestilence in torrents,
Bereaving me forever.

Nay; not forever! on the Virgin's bosom
I see the emblem of my sainted daughter —
She holds my lily in perpetual blossom —
I find her where I sought her.

Close to her heart, with all a mother's patience,
She bears my flower, enticing me to meet her:
Dear Virgin, at thy son's appointed Stations
I kneel, and kneel, and climb,
That I at last may greet her.