There, enough! I have my support again, All human plans and projects come to naught: My life, and what I know of other lives, Prove that: no plan nor project! God shall care! And so on: wherefore should I blame you much? So we are made, such difference in minds, Such difference too in eyes that see the minds! That man, you misinterpret and mispriseThe glory of his nature, I had thought, Shot itself out in white light, blazed the truth Through every atom of his act with me: Yet where I point you, through the crystal shrine, Purity in quintessence, one dew-drop, All say, "Those films were spun by nothing else." Have hope now, and one day expect content! 989 How well to do what I shall never do!" Lying stone-like, eluding notice so, Presently Conti laughed into my ear, 1000 Had tripped up to the raised place where I sat"Cousin, I flung them brutishly and hard! Because you must be hurt, to look austere As Caponsacchi yonder, my tall friend A-gazing now. Ah, Guido, you so close? Keep on your knees, do! Beg her to forgive! My cornet battered like a cannon-ball. Good-by, I'm gone!"- -nor waited the reply. All this, now, being not so strange to me, Used to such misconception day by day And broken-in to bear, I bore, this time. More quietly than woman should perhaps ; Repeated the mere truth and held my tongue. For why? They sent him to the wars next day. 1060 Nor poisoned he the foreigner, my friend, Who wagered on the whiteness of my breast, The swarth skins of our city in dispute: For, though he paid me proper compliment, Then he said, "Since you play the igno- The Count well knew he was besotted with On this the thrust and that the shame, and how 1049 Good cause for jealousy cures jealous fools, And what a paragon was this same priest She talked about until I stopped my ears, She said, "A week is gone; you comb your hair, Then go mope in a corner, cheek on palm, Till night comes round again, so, waste a week As if your husband menaced you in sport. Have not I some acquaintance with his tricks? Oh no, he did not stab the serving-man Who made and sang the rhymes about me once ! You little girl, whose eyes do good to mine, I am the Pope, am Sextus, now the Sixth; And that Twelfth Innocent, proclaimed to-day, Is Lucifer disguised in human flesh! He gibbered and I listened; but I knew 1171 |