42
Maddalena's confession.
And sometimes cloistered in her chamber, there
We read and talked till purple twilight stains
Sank through the marble pavement. In that room
There hung a copy of a rare old picture,
The marriage of St. Catherine.
I remember
That she grew farther from me, day by day,
I guessed not wherefore. Over her blue eyes
The lids drooped heavily, as lilies loll
Against the swell of waves. No echo tracked
Her footstep through the vaulty corridors,
And often in the night I saw her rise
To gaze upon St. Catherine's blessed face,
Or prone before the crucifix, lie there
Praying till dawn.
Once more Ginevra stood
Flower-crowned and jewelled, but beneath the light
Of tall cathedral tapers. From the crowd
Quick sobs burst audibly; the very priests
Looked with sad eyes; nuns to the lattice pressed
And blenched away, but she unconscious stood
With folded hands, and looks upcast as though
We read and talked till purple twilight stains
Sank through the marble pavement. In that room
There hung a copy of a rare old picture,
The marriage of St. Catherine.
I remember
That she grew farther from me, day by day,
I guessed not wherefore. Over her blue eyes
The lids drooped heavily, as lilies loll
Against the swell of waves. No echo tracked
Her footstep through the vaulty corridors,
And often in the night I saw her rise
To gaze upon St. Catherine's blessed face,
Or prone before the crucifix, lie there
Praying till dawn.
Once more Ginevra stood
Flower-crowned and jewelled, but beneath the light
Of tall cathedral tapers. From the crowd
Quick sobs burst audibly; the very priests
Looked with sad eyes; nuns to the lattice pressed
And blenched away, but she unconscious stood
With folded hands, and looks upcast as though
