Brooded above the streets of Rome, and hushed
Their noisier clamor, at her orisons,
In San Domenico, Francesca knelt.
All day her charities had overflowed
For others. Husband, children, friends had claimed
Service ungrudged; the poor had gotten their dole,
Doubled by reason of her soothing hands;
Sick eyes had lifted at her coming, as lifts
The parcht Campagna grass at the cool kisses
Of winds that have been dallying with the snows