SONNETS FOR PICTURES,

AND OTHER SONNETS.

FOR

'OUR LADY OF THE ROCKS.'

BY LEONARDO DA VINCI.

MOTHER, is this the darkness of the end,

The Shadow of Death? and is that outer sea

Infinite imminent Eternity?

And does the death-pang by man's seed sustain'd
In Time's each instant cause thy face to bend
Its silent prayer upon the Son, while he
Blesses the dead with his hand silently
To his long day which hours no more offend?

Mother of grace, the pass is difficult,

Keen as these rocks, and the bewildered souls Throng it like echoes, blindly shuddering through. Thy name, O Lord, each spirit's voice extols,

Whose peace abides in the dark avenue

Amid the bitterness of things occult.

FOR

A VENETIAN PASTORAL.

BY GIORGIONE.

(In the Louvre.)

WATER, for anguish of the solstice: - nay,
But dip the vessel slowly, -nay, but lean
And hark how at its verge the wave sighs in
Reluctant. Hush! Beyond all depth away
The heat lies silent at the brink of day:

Now the hand trails upon the viol-string

That sobs, and the brown faces cease to sing, Sad with the whole of pleasure. Whither stray Her eyes now, from whose mouth the slim pipes creep And leave it pouting, while the shadowed grass

Is cool against her naked side? Let be:

Say nothing now unto her lest she weep,
Nor name this ever. Be it as it was,·

Life touching lips with Immortality.