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

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 110
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,

About me Ottima, I mean of late,
Too bold, too confident she 'll still face down
The spitefullest of talkers in our town.
How we talk in the little town below!

But love, love, love - there's better love,
I know!

131

This foolish love was only day's first offer;
I choose my next love to defy the scoffer:
For do not our Bride and Bridegroom sally
Out of Possagno church at noon?
Their house looks over Orcana valley:
Why should not I be the bride as soon
As Ottima? For I saw, beside,
Arrive last night that little bride -
Saw, if you call it seeing her, one flash
Of the pale snow-pure cheek and black
bright tresses,

Blacker than all except the black eyelash;
I wonder she contrives those lids no dresses!
So strict was she, the veil
Should cover close her pale
Pure cheeks-

140

a bride to look at and scarce

touch, Scarce touch, remember, Jules! For are

not such

With love for all men! I, to-night at least, Would be that holy and beloved priest.

Now wait!-even I already seem to share In God's love: what does New-year's hymn

declare ?

What other meaning do these verses bear?

All service ranks the same with God: 190
If now, as formerly he trod
Paradise, his presence fills

Our earth, each only as God wills
Can work-God's puppets, best and worst,
Are we; there is no last nor first.

Say not "a small event!" Why “small” ?
Costs it more pain that this, ye call
A "great event," should come to pass,
Than that? Untwine me from the mass
Of deeds which make up life, one deed
Power shall fall short in or exceed!
And more of it, and more of it! - oh yes-
I will pass each, and see their happiness,

200

!

Otti.
Oh, shut the lattice, pray
Seb. Let me lean out. I cannot scent
blood here,

Foul as the morn may be.

There, shut the world out! How do you feel now, Ottima? There, curse The world and all outside! Let us throw off

This mask how do you bear yourself?
Let's out
With all of it!

Otti.
Best never speak of it.
Seb. Best speak again and yet again of it,
Till words cease to be more than words.
"His blood,"

For instance

let those two words mean, "His blood"

And nothing more. Notice, I'll say them

Over the wine and fruit. I had to scheme To get him from the fire. Nothing but saying

290

His own set wants the proof-mark, roused him up To hunt them out. Seb. 'Faith, he is not alive To fondle you before face. my Otti. Do you Fondle me then! Who means to take your life

For that, my Sebald?

Seb. Hark you, Ottima ! One thing to guard against. We'll not make much

One of the other that is, not make more Parade of warmth, childish officious coil, Than yesterday: as if, sweet, I supposed Proof upon proof were needed now, now first,

To show I love you — yes, still love you love you In spite of Luca and what's come to him

300

My husband Luca Gaddi's murdered corpse Within there, at his couch-foot, covered close

Would you have pored upon it? Why per

sist

320

In poring now upon it? For 't is here
As much as there in the deserted house :
You cannot rid your eyes of it. For me,
Now he is dead I hate him worse: I hate ..
Dare you stay here? I would go back and
hold
His two dead hands, and
"I hate you

say,

Seb. Off, off- take your hands off mine, 'Tis the hot evening-off! oh, morning is it?

Otti. There's one thing must be done; you know what thing.

329

Come in and help to carry. We may sleep Anywhere in the whole wide house to-night. Seb. What would come, think you, if

we let him lie

Just as he is? Let him lie there until
The angels take him! He is turned by this
Off from his face beside, as you will see.
Otti. This dusty pane might serve for
looking-glass.