Legend Of A Tomb In Florence

Here he is, in marble, waiting by a tomb—
Strong-winged for flying, yet, the legends say,
Waiting till a maiden buried here below
Shall break forth and join him once again, some day.

Long ago she lived here, in this Town of Flowers—
She herself a blossom brighter than the rest—
Myrtles blue as Heaven, lilies saintly white,
Ne'er a one was worthy to bloom upon her breast.

Here he saw and loved her—he, the gallant Knight,
Loved this gracious Lady, fairer than the May;
Loved her, and won her, Flower of all Delight—
Then Death, the Robber, stole his love away.

By her grave he waited, years on weary years,
Sure that Love would sometime triumph over Fate,
Till at length, o'er-tired, he too must go to sleep;
Then he bade them carve him, still by her to wait—

But with wings for flying, so that when she came
From her narrow chamber he could bear her high,
Over seas and mountains, past the bars of Earth,
To a spacious dwelling somewhere in the sky.

Still the summons comes not—long their silent dream—
But the watching seraphs pity them, I know,
And the tomb will open, and the dead will rise,
And the Knight and Lady Heavenward will go.
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