To visit Asolo, his brothers' home, And say here masses proper to release A soul from pain, what storm dares hurt his peace? Calm would he pray, with his own thoughts to ward

Thy thunder off, nor want the angels' guard. But Pippa- just one such mischance would spoil

Her day that lightens the next twelvemonth's toil

At wearisome silk-winding, coil on coil!
And here I let time slip for naught!
Aha, you foolhardy sunbeam, caught
With a single splash from my ewer!
You that would mock the best pursuer,
Was my basin over-deep?

One splash of water ruins you asleep,
And up, up, fleet your brilliant bits
Wheeling and counterwheeling,
Reeling, broken beyond healing:
Now grow together on the ceiling!
That will task your wits.

70

80

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Worship whom else? For am I not, this day,

Whate'er I please? What shall I please to-day?

My morn, noon, eve and night — how spend my day?

To-morrow I must be Pippa who winds silk, The whole year round, to earn just bread and milk:

But, this one day, I have leave to go,
And play out my fancy's fullest games 11
I may fancy all day—and it shall be so-
That I taste of the pleasures, am called by
the names

Of the Happiest Four in our Asolo!

See! Up the hillside yonder, through the morning,

Some one shall love me, as the world calls love:

I am no less than Ottima, take warning! The gardens, and the great stone house above, And other house for shrubs, all glass in front,