Poems — Catarina

"Um mover d'olhos brando e piadoso."

A movement of the soft eyes, slow and eloquent, A smile of sweet, yet of such chastened joy, 'Twere easy to transform it to a tear.

A gentle, timid motion, like young flowers Beneath the murmuring west wind undulating.

A graceful, modest ardour--yet at times Most grave and quiet majesty, as one Who knows--that rarest knowledge--her own worth.

A childlike nature, index of a soul Where goodness is intuitive--not put on To gain false praises for a falser virtue.

A bashful softness when she tells her love-- A tremour as of guilt, with low-drooped eyes And red-rose cheek, did not her brow serene, Like to a temple of all holy things, Forbid the thought.

A patient power of sufferance, Enduring all with angel smiles of love.

This, the celestial beauty of my Circé-- This is the magic potion which has changed Earth and all earthly sorrows to a Heaven!

THE POET AT COURT.