The luminous city, tall with fire, Trod deep down in that river of ours, While many a boat with lamp and choir Skimmed birdlike over glittering towers.
I will not hear these nightingales.
IX.
I seem to float, _we_ seem to float Down Arno"s stream in festive guise; A boat strikes flame into our boat, And up that lady seems to rise As then she rose. The shock had flashed A vision on us! What a head, What leaping eyeb.a.l.l.s!--beauty dashed To splendour by a sudden dread.
And still they sing, the nightingales.
X.
Too bold to sin, too weak to die; Such women are so. As for me, I would we had drowned there, he and I, That moment, loving perfectly.
He had not caught her with her loosed Gold ringlets ... rarer in the south ...
Nor heard the "Grazie tanto" bruised To sweetness by her English mouth.
And still they sing, the nightingales.
XI.
She had not reached him at my heart With her fine tongue, as snakes indeed Kill flies; nor had I, for my part, Yearned after, in my desperate need, And followed him as he did her To coasts left bitter by the tide, Whose very nightingales, elsewhere Delighting, torture and deride!
For still they sing, the nightingales.
XII.
A worthless woman; mere cold clay As all false things are: but so fair, She takes the breath of men away Who gaze upon her unaware.
I would not play her larcenous tricks To have her looks! She lied and stole, And spat into my love"s pure pyx The rank saliva of her soul.
And still they sing, the nightingales.
XIII.
I would not for her white and pink, Though such he likes--her grace of limb, Though such he has praised--nor yet, I think.
For life itself, though spent with him, Commit such sacrilege, affront G.o.d"s nature which is love, intrude "Twixt two affianced souls, and hunt Like spiders, in the altar"s wood.
I cannot bear these nightingales.
XIV.
If she chose sin, some gentler guise She might have sinned in, so it seems: She might have p.r.i.c.ked out both my eyes, And I still seen him in my dreams!
--Or drugged me in my soup or wine, Nor left me angry afterward: To die here with his hand in mine, His breath upon me, were not hard.
(Our Lady hush these nightingales!)
XV.
But set a springe for _him_, "mio ben,"
My only good, my first last love!-- Though Christ knows well what sin is, when He sees some things done they must move Himself to wonder. Let her pa.s.s.
I think of her by night and day.
Must _I_ too join her ... out, alas!...
With Giulio, in each word I say?
And evermore the nightingales!
XVI.
Giulio, my Giulio!--sing they so, And you be silent? Do I speak, And you not hear? An arm you throw Round someone, and I feel so weak?
--Oh, owl-like birds! They sing for spite, They sing for hate, they sing for doom, They"ll sing through death who sing through night, They"ll sing and stun me in the tomb-- The nightingales, the nightingales!
MY KATE.
I.
She was not as pretty as women I know, And yet all your best made of sunshine and snow Drop to shade, melt to nought in the long-trodden ways, While she"s still remembered on warm and cold days-- My Kate.
II.
Her air had a meaning, her movements a grace; You turned from the fairest to gaze on her face: And when you had once seen her forehead and mouth, You saw as distinctly her soul and her truth-- My Kate.
III.
Such a blue inner light from her eyelids outbroke, You looked at her silence and fancied she spoke: When she did, so peculiar yet soft was the tone, Though the loudest spoke also, you heard her alone-- My Kate.
IV.
I doubt if she said to you much that could act As a thought or suggestion: she did not attract In the sense of the brilliant or wise: I infer "T was her thinking of others made you think of her-- My Kate.
V.
She never found fault with you, never implied Your wrong by her right; and yet men at her side Grew n.o.bler, girls purer, as through the whole town The children were gladder that pulled at her gown-- My Kate.
VI.
None knelt at her feet confessed lovers in thrall; They knelt more to G.o.d than they used,--that was all: If you praised her as charming, some asked what you meant, But the charm of her presence was felt when she went-- My Kate.
VII.
The weak and the gentle, the ribald and rude, She took as she found them, and did them all good; It always was so with her--see what you have!
She has made the gra.s.s greener even here ... with her grave-- My Kate.
VIII.
My dear one!--when thou wast alive with the rest, I held thee the sweetest and loved thee the best: And now thou art dead, shall I not take thy part As thy smiles used to do for thyself, my sweet Heart-- My Kate?
A SONG FOR THE RAGGED SCHOOL OF LONDON.
WRITTEN IN ROME.
I.