64
Guido Savella.
There was no changeful light, and her sweet mouth
Smiled even in repose. But Guido seemed
To visibly link the present with the past.
For if he had his father's Roman eye,
His lips were like his mother's, and his voice
Had tones, like hers, unnaturally sweet.
They told how he would steal, when sunset came
To the deep western windows, and there sit,
Leaning his brow upon his outspread palm,
Even as she had done. His smile, his glance,
The wandering gaze that seemed to, fathom distance,
The strange, deep reveries that made his life
Shadowy like a dream, his sudden tears
Flowing uncalled, and his unquiet gladness,—
All this resembled her. His very step,
Sounding along the galleries, and pausing
Before the pictures she had loved, became
A dread to those who listened, and Savella
Hearing its echoes, turned away to sigh.
Save for each other lone, surrounded ever
By shapes of antique beauty, cherishing
Rare birds and blossoms, with the eager care
Smiled even in repose. But Guido seemed
To visibly link the present with the past.
For if he had his father's Roman eye,
His lips were like his mother's, and his voice
Had tones, like hers, unnaturally sweet.
They told how he would steal, when sunset came
To the deep western windows, and there sit,
Leaning his brow upon his outspread palm,
Even as she had done. His smile, his glance,
The wandering gaze that seemed to, fathom distance,
The strange, deep reveries that made his life
Shadowy like a dream, his sudden tears
Flowing uncalled, and his unquiet gladness,—
All this resembled her. His very step,
Sounding along the galleries, and pausing
Before the pictures she had loved, became
A dread to those who listened, and Savella
Hearing its echoes, turned away to sigh.
Save for each other lone, surrounded ever
By shapes of antique beauty, cherishing
Rare birds and blossoms, with the eager care
