MIRANDA? She died soon, and sick for home. <br />And dark Ilario the Milanese <br />Carved her in garments 'scutcheoned to the knees, <br />Holding one orchard-spray as fresh as foam. <br />One heart broke, many grieved. Ilario said: <br />'The summer is gone after her. Who knows <br />If any season shall renew his rose? <br />But this rose lives till Beauty's self be dead.' <br />So wrought he, days and years, and half aware <br />Of a small, striving, sorrowing quick thing, <br />Wrapped in a furred sea-cloak, and deft to bring <br />Tools to his hand or light to the dull air. <br />Ghost, spirit, flame, he knew not,–could but tell <br />It had loved her, and its name was Ariel.<br /><br />Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/miranda-s-tomb/
