Pia.
Guido, Guido, thou hast not spoke this hour,
Nor read one word nor written aught. Dear Lord,
The lion on the palace at Assisi
Sits not more still in stone! Guido, look thou!
Guido [turning round without looking at her].
Yes, old Pia, good neighbor.
Pia.
Yes, old Pia! Guido, grieve not so much,
Lisetta will be well before the spring
Comes round again.
Guido.
Yes, Lisetta will be well perhaps. God grant!
Pia.
Well, what then?
Guido.
'Tis not only of her I think, Pia, here am I
Shut in this house from month to month a nurse;
Here lies she sick, this child, and may not stir;
And I, lacking due means to hire, must serve
The house; while my best self, my soul, my art,
Rust. My soul is scorched with holy thirst,
My temples throb, my veins run fire; but yet,
For all my dim distress and vague desire,
No word, no single song, no verse, has come—
O Blessed God!—stifled with creature needs,
And with necessity about my throat!
Pia.
Thy corner is too hot, the glaring sun
Is yet on the wall.
Guido.
'Tis not that sun that maddens me, O Pia!
Can you not see me shrunk? Have you not heard
That other Guido of Perugia
How he is grown? How lately at the feast
That Ugolino, the great cardinal,
Spread at Assisi Easter night, Guido
Read certain of his verses and declaimed
Pages of cursed sonnets to the guests.
Pia.
Young Guido of Perugia, thy friend?
Guido.
Yea. And when he ended, came the Duke
Down from the dais to kiss that Guido's hand
Humbly, and said that poesy was king.