A Judith Gautier

Je vous offre un encens né dans son encensoir,
Une fleur, un parfum qui sera mort ce soir,
Destin de votre rêve aux champs de Césarée.
Il est doux, et la fleur est belle; mais un dieu
Tiendrait moins bien que vous ce frêle sceptre bleu,
Hommage d'un fidèle à votre main sacrée.

The Soul's Lineage

According to our measure and extent,
Despite long exile in these regions dim,
We must from God compute our soul's descent,
Seeing the soul on Him alone is bent,
And must in that degree partake of Him.

On the Palatine Hill

Above the palace of the cæsars blow
Poppies and buttercups, and rise cool trees:
The palms and pines and slender cypresses.
What pomps and passions buried under these,
Long time agone, such a great while ago!

To Venus

Hail , Cytherea! whom the favour'd earth
Of Cyprus claims, exulting in thy birth.—
Bright queen! adorn'd with every winning grace,
The smile enchanting and the blooming face.
Goddess! o'er Cyprus' fragrant groves who reign,
And Salamis' high-cultivated plain;
O with thy breath inspire my humble lays,
So shall I sing in sweetest verse thy praise.

Storm

In the black jungle of the sky now wakes
The Lightning's writhing brood of fiery snakes,
And lion Thunder from his lair of cloud
Startles the dusky world with challenge loud.

The Pilgrim

When, but a child, I wandered hence,
Another child—sweet Innocence,
My sister—went with me:
But I have lost her, and am fain
To seek her in the home again
Where we were wont to be.

Leo XIII

Servant of God, of thee the world had need,
For this thy glory, this thy triple crown,
Thy soul from out its battlemented creed
Glowed with that love which melts all barriers down.

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