Beatrice Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Even as the Blessed, at the final summons,
       &nbsp Shall rise up quickened, each one from his grave,
       &nbsp Wearing again the garments of the flesh,
So, upon that celestial chariot,
       &nbsp A hundred rose ad vocem tanti senis,
       &nbsp Ministers and messengers of life eternal.
They all were saying, "Benedictus qui venis,"
       &nbsp And scattering flowers above and round about,
       &nbsp "Manibus o date lilia plenis."
Oft have I seen, at the approach of day,
       &nbsp The orient sky all stained with roseate hues,
       &nbsp And the other heaven with light serene adorned,
And the sun's face uprising, overshadowed,
       &nbsp So that, by temperate influence of vapors,
       &nbsp The eye sustained his aspect for long while;
Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers,
       &nbsp Which from those hands angelic were thrown up,
       &nbsp And down descended inside and without,
With crown of olive o'er a snow-white veil,
       &nbsp Appeared a lady, under a green mantle,
       &nbsp Vested in colors of the living flame.

. . . . . .

Even as the snow, among the living rafters
       &nbsp Upon the back of Italy, congeals,
       &nbsp Blown on and beaten by Sclavonian winds,
And then, dissolving, filters through itself,
       &nbsp Whene'er the land, that loses shadow, breathes,
       &nbsp Like as a taper melts before a fire,
Even such I was, without a sigh or tear,
       &nbsp Before the song of those who chime forever
       &nbsp After the chiming of the eternal spheres;
But, when I heard in those sweet melodies
       &nbsp Compassion for me, more than had they said,
       &nbsp "O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus consume him?"
The ice, that was about my heart congealed,
       &nbsp To air and water changed, and, in my anguish,
       &nbsp Through lips and eyes came gushing from my breast.