They met again, but, silent, took their leave,
As they did yesterday: another night,
And neither spoke awhile—a pure delight,
Had chasten’d love’s first blushes: silently
Gazed Julio on the gentle Agathè—
At length, “Fair Nun!” she started, and held fast
Her bright hand on her lips—“the past, the past,
And the pale future! there be some that lie
Under those marble urns—I know not why,
But I were better in that holy calm,