Guido Savella.
69
Kept step and voice with a deep roll like thunder.
There were no draperies save those that hung
Over the windows, and before the door
Of a small inner room, and there, low bending,
A statue caught back on her lifted arm
The gathered folds, and finger laid on lip,
Gazed in upon the artist. A Madonna,
Over whose brow a dark blue mantle fell,
Hung in a deep recess.
There was a magic
About the face—a picture may have such—
For on its. down-cast lids the gazer's heart
Dwelt earnestly, and with a passionate wish
To see them rise. Hour after hour, 'twas told,
Guide stood rapt before it, and 'twas whispered
Throughout the household, that when even came,
And he awoke from those strange reveries
To steal forth to the gardens, his faint step
Scarce left its impress on the moistened sod
Girding his favourite fountain. As a cloud
That captures the retreating light of day,
His eye still kept its lustre; but quick pulses
There were no draperies save those that hung
Over the windows, and before the door
Of a small inner room, and there, low bending,
A statue caught back on her lifted arm
The gathered folds, and finger laid on lip,
Gazed in upon the artist. A Madonna,
Over whose brow a dark blue mantle fell,
Hung in a deep recess.
There was a magic
About the face—a picture may have such—
For on its. down-cast lids the gazer's heart
Dwelt earnestly, and with a passionate wish
To see them rise. Hour after hour, 'twas told,
Guide stood rapt before it, and 'twas whispered
Throughout the household, that when even came,
And he awoke from those strange reveries
To steal forth to the gardens, his faint step
Scarce left its impress on the moistened sod
Girding his favourite fountain. As a cloud
That captures the retreating light of day,
His eye still kept its lustre; but quick pulses
