That darken his fair suns—it was away,
Feeding on dreams, the heart of Agathè!
The vesper prayers were said, and the last hymn
Sung to the Holy Virgin. In the dim,
Gray aisle, was heard a solitary tread,
As of one musing sadly on the dead—
’Twas Julio. It was his wont to be
Often alone within the sanctuary;
But now, not so—another: it was she!
Kneeling in all her beauty, like a saint