Explore "The Tomb of Ilaria Giunigi" by Edith Wharton on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
ILARIA, thou that wert so fair and dear / That death would fain disown thee, grief made wise / With prophecy thy husband's widowed eyes, / And bade him call the master's art to rear / Thy perfect image on the sculptured bier, / With dreaming lids, hands laid in peaceful guise / Beneath the breast that seems to fall and rise, / And lips that at love's call should answer "Here!"
First-born of the Renascence, when thy soul / Cast the sweet robing of the flesh aside, / Into these lovelier marble limbs it stole, / Regenerate in art's sunrise clear and wide, / As saints who, having kept faith's raiment whole, / Change it above for garments glorified.