PIA.
Speak low, her sleep is light. Her road is hard As well as thine. For all this year, since thou Didst bring her to Rieto here to us, Hath she lain on her bed, broken with pain, This child that is thy wife and loveth thee.
GUIDO.
Aye, yes, "tis true, she loveth me, she loveth me, And I love her. "Tis worse--add grief to care, And Poesy fares worse.
PIA.
And she is grown most pale and still of late.
GUIDO.
Look, Pia, how she lieth there like death, That far-off patience on her face. Now, now, Surely I needs must make a song! And yet I may not; ashes and floor-sweeping clog My soul within me!
PIA.
Nay, let thy dreams pa.s.s. Look thou, how pale!
Dear Lord, how blue her little veins do shine!
GUIDO.
Thou art most kind, good neighbor, to come here Helping our house. And it is very strange That when we are so kind we cannot know The heart also. For in my soul I hear A bell summoning me always--
PIA.
If I should stew in milk the peas, maybe-- Do you think the child would eat it?
GUIDO.
For thy world is not my world, kind old friend.
PIA.
Why do you not walk, Guido, for a while, I have an hour yet.
GUIDO.
Then I will go, Pia. But not for long, I will come back soon enough to my ch.o.r.es, be sure; Mine is a short tether.
[_He goes out. LISETTA on the bed opens her eyes._]
LISETTA.
Pia.
PIA.
Yes, dear child.
LISETTA.
Pia, turn my pillow, I am stifled.
PIA.
There! Thou hast slept well?
LISETTA.
I have not slept.
PIA.
Holy Virgin, thou hast not slept!
LISETTA.
Pia, think you I did not know? This month I scarce have slept for thinking on his lot.
I read his fighting soul. Where are his songs, The great renown that waited him? Down, down, Struck by the self-same hand that shattered me.
I listen night on night and hear him moan In his sleep--
PIA.
It is his love for thee, Lisetta.
LISETTA.
The padre from the village hemmed and said That G.o.d had sent me and my sickness here For Guido"s cross to bear, his scourge. They thought I slept--
PIA.
Thou hast dreamed this, he loveth thee, Lisetta.
LISETTA.
Yea, loveth me somewhat but glory more.
And I would have it so. O Mother of G.o.d, When wilt thou send me death? O Blessed Mother, I have lain so still!
PIA.
Beware, Lisetta, tempt not G.o.d!
LISETTA.
Death is the sister of all them that weep, Pia.
PIA.