The Translator To The Author

Poet of beauty, pardon me If touch of mine have tarnishèd Thy Pearl's pure luster, loved by thee; Or dimmed thy vision of the dead Alive in light and gaiety. Thy life is like a shadow fled; Thy place we know not nor degree, The stock that bore thee, school that bred; Yet shall thy fame be sung and said. Poet of wonder, pain, and peace, Hold high thy nameless, laurelled head Where Dante dwells with Beatrice.