I


Paul, let thy faces from the canvas look 
Haply less clearly than Pietro's can, 
Less lively than in tints of Titian, 
Or him who both the bay-wreath-chaplets took: 
Yet shalt thou therefore have no harsh rebuke 
Of me whom, while with eager eye I scan 
O'er painted pomps of Brera and Vatican, 
The first delight thou gavest ne'er forsook. 
For in thy own Verona, long ago, 
Before one masterpiece of cool arcades, 
I made a friend; and such a friend was rare. 
For him, I love thy velvet's glorious show, 
Thy sheens of silk 'twixt marble balustrades, 
Thy breathing-space and full translucent air. 


II


Loved for themselves, too. Oft as I behold, 
Adown the curtain'd gallery's sumptuous gloom, 
A separate daylight shining in the room, 
There find I still thy groupings manifold 
Of holy clerks, of nobles grave and bold, 
Swart slaves, brave gallants, maidens in their bloom, 
With what of Persian and Ligarian loom 
May best consort with marble dome and gold: 
There find thy dog, whose teeth Time's teeth defy 
To raze the name from less enduring leaves 
Of loved Canossa: there, in cynic ease, 
Thy monkey: and beneath the pearly sky 
See lovely ladies wave their handkerchiefs, 
And lend sweet looks from airy balconies. 


III


They err who say this long-withdrawing line 
Of palace-fronts Palladian, this brocade 
From looms of Genoa, this gold-inlaid 
Resplendent plate of Milan, that combine 
To spread soft lustre through the grand design, 
Show but in fond factitious masquerade 
The actual feast by leper Simon made 
For that great Guest, of old, in Palestine. 
Christ walks amongst us still; at liberal table 
Scorns not to sit: no sorrowing Magdalene 
But of these dear feet kindly gets her kiss 
Now, even as then; and thou, be honorable, 
Who, by the might of thy majestic scene, 
Bringest down that age and minglest it with this.