Which soon must seal my shame, well dost thou shrink
To do the accusing office!—Foscarini!
Yet may I breathe that name! the walls about me
Will not yet hear it as a guilty sound,
But softly echo back the whispered word,
As if their stones could pity!—
To-night! to-night!
I’m strangely calm. So long I’ve pondered on it,
It seems that even despair has lost its keenness,
And only sits a thick and leaden weight