A Volume of Dante

I LIE unread, alone. None heetleth me.
Day after day the cobwebs are unswept
From my dim covers. I have lain and slept
In dust and darkness for a century.
An old forgotten volume, I. Yet see !
Such mighty words within my heart are kept
That, reading once, great Ariosto wept
In vain despair so impotent to be.

And once, with pensive eyes and drooping head,
Musing, Vittoria Colonna came,
And touched my leaves with dreamy finger-tips,
Lifted me up half absently, and read ;
Then kissed the page with sudden tender lips,
And sighed, and murmured one belovèd name.