40
Maddalena's confession.
St. Lawrence in the flames, his lifted face
Full of sublime forgetfulness of pain,
Or Stephen stoned and prone; perchance to mark
Pale hermits watching in their forest caves
With lamp and book, the inner darkness shapen
Into black fiends; or sometimes, oh, my soul!
An Ecce Homo with dim eyes upraised,
And red drops trickling from the crown of thorns!
All these Giuseppa scanned with reverent face;
I, in her arms held level with the canvas,
Looked on in childish fear.
There came a message
That said Ginevra, weary of the court,
Returned to us alone.
'Twas early noon.
I, over-wearied, dreamed upon my couch;
And when I woke my sister stood beside me.
Ginevra? no!—ah heaven! was that Ginevra
Who quivered at my fear, and in the sunlight
Stood shivering ere she bent and faintly pressed
Her lips upon my brow!
I never knew
Full of sublime forgetfulness of pain,
Or Stephen stoned and prone; perchance to mark
Pale hermits watching in their forest caves
With lamp and book, the inner darkness shapen
Into black fiends; or sometimes, oh, my soul!
An Ecce Homo with dim eyes upraised,
And red drops trickling from the crown of thorns!
All these Giuseppa scanned with reverent face;
I, in her arms held level with the canvas,
Looked on in childish fear.
There came a message
That said Ginevra, weary of the court,
Returned to us alone.
'Twas early noon.
I, over-wearied, dreamed upon my couch;
And when I woke my sister stood beside me.
Ginevra? no!—ah heaven! was that Ginevra
Who quivered at my fear, and in the sunlight
Stood shivering ere she bent and faintly pressed
Her lips upon my brow!
I never knew
