ON A PORTRAIT BY TINTORET IN THE
               COLONNA GALLERY

                        AN old man sitting in the evening light
                        Touching a spinet ; there is stormy blow
                        In the red heavens, but he does not know
                        How fast the clouds are faring to the night:
                        Hehearsthe sunset as he thrums some slight
                        Soft tune that clears the track of long ago;
                        And, his musings wander to and fro
                        Where the years passed along, a sage delight
                        Is creeping in his eyes. His soul is old,
                        The sky is old, the sunset browns to gray;
                        But he, to some dear country of his youth
                        By those few notes of music borne away,
                        Is listening to a story that is told,
                        And listens, smiling at the story’s truth.

                                                                                                 MICHAEL FIELD.

                                                      18