Declines to death, while heaven still bars the gate.

Love lent me wings; my path was like a stair;
A lamp unto my feet, that sun was given;
And death was safety and great joy to find.

But dying now, I shall not climb to heaven;
Nor can mere memory cheer my heart's despair:--
What help remains when hope is left behind?



LXIV.

AFTER THE DEATH OF VITTORIA COLONNA.

_A WASTED BRAND._

_Qual maraviglia è._


If being near the fire I burned with it,
Now that its flame is quenched and doth not show,
What wonder if I waste within and glow,
Dwindling away to cinders bit by bit?

While still it burned, I saw so brightly lit
That splendour whence I drew my grievous woe,
That from its sight alone could pleasure flow,
And death and torment both seemed exquisite.