Guido Savella.
65
Of those who have few human things to love,
The orphans grew together.
And their childhood
Passed, but yet slowly, for they lingered long
In its sweet Eden, and when driven forth
Still dwelt beneath the shadow of its trees.
They bore their childish hearts far into youth;
They were alone; and if to Guido's spirit
Came sometimes wild hopes and ambitious thoughts,
They left no withering traces, but sped on,
Even as the shadow of an eagle's wing
Darkens a sunbright valley. Lapse of years
Wrought little change, save that Francesca's brow
Wore the bright seal of girlhood; that she stepped
With its half-conscious grace, and that she curbed
To womanly pride, the laughter that her eyes
Betrayed, how sweetly! Save that from his dreams
The boy was half awaked, and as the breeze
Is tremulous in the tree, life at his heart
Made music. Oh, the calm of earlier days,
To his refining senses, seemed the rest
Of one who sleeps into an April morning
The orphans grew together.
And their childhood
Passed, but yet slowly, for they lingered long
In its sweet Eden, and when driven forth
Still dwelt beneath the shadow of its trees.
They bore their childish hearts far into youth;
They were alone; and if to Guido's spirit
Came sometimes wild hopes and ambitious thoughts,
They left no withering traces, but sped on,
Even as the shadow of an eagle's wing
Darkens a sunbright valley. Lapse of years
Wrought little change, save that Francesca's brow
Wore the bright seal of girlhood; that she stepped
With its half-conscious grace, and that she curbed
To womanly pride, the laughter that her eyes
Betrayed, how sweetly! Save that from his dreams
The boy was half awaked, and as the breeze
Is tremulous in the tree, life at his heart
Made music. Oh, the calm of earlier days,
To his refining senses, seemed the rest
Of one who sleeps into an April morning
