



Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive









FLORENCE ON A CERTAIN NIGHT
AND OTHER POEMS

By Coningsby Dawson

New York: Henry Holt and Company

1914



TO

_JOHN KEATS_

WHO, IN EXCUSE FOR A LIKE OCCASION,

WROTE:

_"WERE I DEAD, I SHOULD LIKE A BOOK DEDICATED TO ME."_


A WARNING TO THE READER

Here thou shalt find grave thought--the shade of thine Most is of earth,
some little all divine. By hands God-given, mine, this tower doth
thrive; Thine are the clouds which round my turrets drive.




FLORENCE ON A CERTAIN NIGHT


I

(October, 1504)

                   _[Someone sings in the street below]_

               Fair-fleeting Youth must snatch at happiness,

               He knows not if To-morrow curse or bless,

               Nor round what bend upon his travel-way

               The bandit Death lurks armed--of Yesterday

               His palely featured griefs he knows too well;

               Therefore with jests To-day, come Heaven, come Hell,

               He plucks with either hand what joys he may.



               Joy is a flower

               White-leafd or red,

               None knows which colour

               Till it is dead:

               White gives forth fragrance

               Pure as God's breath;

               Red in its dying

               Yields the gatherer death.

                   _[Leonardo da Vinci speaks]_

               So 'tis Lorenzo's song they sing to-night,

               That haunting song which long years since he sang

               When