Guido Savella.
71
The chamber where her portrait hung was closed,
The key had rusted in the lock. A vail
Hung, like a pall, before the pictured face.
The key had rusted in the lock. A vail
Hung, like a pall, before the pictured face.
'Twas sunset, and the mellowed sound of bells,
The lowing of worn cattle driven to drink,
Came from the vineyards and the far Campagna.
'Twas still in Guido's studio; not a sound
Rose from below, but loitered as it came.
The echoes caged within the dome-like ceiling
Slept upon folded wings. A picture stood
Half finished on the easel, but the artist
Grown weary had gone forth.
Light steps ascended
The marble stair, the drapery looped back
Upon the nymph's white arm, waved, and Francesca
Lifting its folds, passed through. The polished floor
Imaged her feet like water as she passed;
She paused before the easel. On the canvass,
New-limned, a woman in the Roman garb
Sat by a fount and watched gray oxen drinking.
Her hands lay clasped upon the marble rim,
The lowing of worn cattle driven to drink,
Came from the vineyards and the far Campagna.
'Twas still in Guido's studio; not a sound
Rose from below, but loitered as it came.
The echoes caged within the dome-like ceiling
Slept upon folded wings. A picture stood
Half finished on the easel, but the artist
Grown weary had gone forth.
Light steps ascended
The marble stair, the drapery looped back
Upon the nymph's white arm, waved, and Francesca
Lifting its folds, passed through. The polished floor
Imaged her feet like water as she passed;
She paused before the easel. On the canvass,
New-limned, a woman in the Roman garb
Sat by a fount and watched gray oxen drinking.
Her hands lay clasped upon the marble rim,
