Héloïse Durant

AND this is all now left of thee—a mask

Of grave, worn features, still so proud in death.

No bitter jest can wound thee by a breath,

Nor idle mocker now in scoffing ask

Thy mission here. Completed all thy task,

And won forever the immortal wreath;

While saddest of sad brows rests still beneath,

Heart tempest-tost doth now in God’s light bask.

Pale image of great poet and brave man,

Thou art to me as monitor and friend.

When those sad lips and sunken eyes I scan,

I see the lines of will that naught could rend;

Dauntless to death, still free tho’ Florence ban,

Proving thy strength, endurance to the end.