LXIII
“Scrivo sol per sfogar l’interna doglia”
Vittoria Colonna
My heart’s a wound of piteousness to-day
Because our crimson room last night was seen
The shadow of all sin since time has been—
That color that Macbeth washed not away.
Fear came between our kisses then. “Nay! nay!—
The world, how can it know our love has been?”
The moon—look!—tells it now to stars that lean
In eagerness; and they to winds that sway
The talking trees. Ah! when I leave you, Dear,
What horrors in the dawn upon me’ll seize
At many fingered mockery of leaves
A-point at me! The world will see—will hear—
The merciless white Day no one deceives,
And O! all those black-fingered, scornful trees!
II
THE PASSING OF LOVE
“Now, thou Hyacinth, whisper the letters on thee graven and add a deeper ai, ai to thy petals.”
—Moschus