To Monsignor Lodovico Beccadelli. Urbino.

Per croce e grazia.


        God's grace, the cross, our troubles multiplied,
        Will make us meet in heaven, full well I know:
        Yet ere we yield our breath, on earth below
        Why need a little solace be denied?

        Though seas and mountains and rough ways divide
        Our feet asunder, neither frost nor snow
        Can make the soul her ancient love forgo;
        Nor chains nor bonds the wings of thought have tied.

        Borne by these wings with thee I dwell for aye,
        And weep, and of my dead Urbino talk,
        Who, were he living, now perchance would be,

        For so 'twas planned, thy guest as well as I:
        Warned by his death another way I walk
        To meet him where he waits to live with me.