With passionate eyes, but never might draw near.
For still my brother Piero or my sire
Were close behind, with dark set brows intent
To watch him that he did not dare to speak.
Only his eyes met mine, and in my cheeks
I felt the guilty color grow and grow;
And once, when all were masqued, amid the crowd
A hand touched mine, and oh, I knew ’twas his!
At last, with baffling of his heart-sick hope
And long suspense and sorrow, he fell ill;