Lisetta.
The tears of women even in dreams may fall,
Good brother. Wilt thou not bide?
Francis.
I must fare on.
Lisetta.
Aye, aye, the world lies open to thy hand,
But unto me this twelvemonth is a death.
The flesh is dead, and dying lies my soul,
Shrunk like a flower in my fevered hand.
Francis [he goes over and stands beside the bed].
My dear.
Lisetta.
I may not see the stars rise on the hills,
Nor tend the flocks at even, nor rise to do
Aught of the small sweet round of duties owed
To him I love; but lie a burden to him,
Calling on death who heareth not.
Francis.
My life hath given me words for thee to hear.
Lisetta.
Surely thy life is peace.
Francis.
There is a life larger than life, that dwells
Invisible from all; whose lack alone
Is death. There in thy soul the stars may rise,
And at the even the gentle thoughts return
To flock the quiet pastures of the mind;
And in the large heart love is all thou owest
For service unto God and thy Beloved.
Lisetta.
Little Brother!
Francis.
May you have God's peace, dear friends. Farewell.