Fiammetta
Behold Fiammetta, shown in Vision here.
Gloom—girt’ mid Spring—flushed apple—growth she stands;
And as she sways the brances with her hands,
Along her arm the sundered bloom falls sheer,
In separate petals shed, each like a tear;
While from the quivering bough the bird expands
His wings. And lo! thy spirit understands
Life shaken and shower’d and flown, and Death drawn near.
All stirs with change. Her garments beat the air:
The angel circling round her aureole
Shimmers in flight against the tree’s grey bole:
While she, with reassuring eyes most fair,
A presage and a promise stands; as 'twere
On Death’s dark storm the rainbow of the Soul.
