Luca Signorelli to His Son

They brought thy body back to me quite dead,

Just as thou hadst been stricken in the brawl.

I let no tear, I let no curses fall,

But signed to them to lay thee on the bed;

Then, with clenched teeth, I stripped thy clothes soaked red;

And taking up my pencil at God's call,

All through the night I drew thy muscles all,

And writhed at every beauty of thy head;

For I required the glory of thy limbs

To lend it to archangel and to saint,

And of thy brow, for brows with halo rims;

And thou shalt stand, in groups which I shall paint

Upon God's walls, till, like procession hymns

Lost in the distance, ages make them faint.