Verses | Page 5

seemed as lonely and as lost as I.
I had no aim, save to reach warmth
and light
And human touch; but still my witless steps
Led to my
husband's door, and there I stopped,
By instinct, knocked, and called.
A window oped.
A voice--t'was his--demanded: "Who is there?"

"Tis I, Ginevra." Then I heard the tone
Change into horror, and he
prayed aloud
And called upon the saints, the while I urged,
"O, let
me in, Francesco; let me in!
I am so cold, so frightened, let me in!"

Then, with a crash, the window was shut fast;
And, though I cried
and beat upon the door
And wailed aloud, no other answer came.
Weeping, I turned away, and feebly strove
Down the hard distance
towards my father's house.
"They will have pity and will let me in,"

I thought. "They loved me and will let me in."
Cowards! At the high
window overhead
They stood and trembled, while I plead and prayed:


"I am your child, Ginevra. Let me in!
I am not dead. In mercy, let
me in!"
"The holy saints forbid!" declared my sire.
My mother
sobbed and vowed whole pounds of wax
To St. Eustachio, would he
but remove
This fearful presence from her door. Then sharp
Came
click of lock, and a long tube was thrust
From out the window, and
my brother cried,
"Spirit or devil, go! or else I fire!"
Where should I go? Back to the ghastly tomb
And the cold coffined
ones? Up the long street,
Wringing my hands and sobbing low, I went.

My feet were bare and bleeding from the stones;
My hands were
bleeding too; my hair hung loose
Over my shroud. So wild and
strange a shape
Saw never Florence since. The people call
That
street through which I walked and wrung my hands
"Street of the
Dead One," even to this day.
The sleeping houses stood in midnight
black,
And not a soul was in the streets but I.
At last I saw a flickering point of light
High overhead, in a dim
window set.
I had lain down to die; but at the sight
I rose, crawled
on, and with expiring strength
Knocked, sank again, and knew not
even then
It was Antonio's door by which I lay.
A window opened, and a voice called out:
"Qui e?" "I am Ginevra."
And I thought,
"Now he will fall to trembling, like the rest,
And bid
me hence." But, lo! a moment more
The bolts were drawn, and arms
whose very touch
Was life, lifted and clasped and bore me in.
"O
ghost or angel of my buried love,
I know not, care not which, be
welcome here!
Welcome, thrice welcome, to this heart of mine!"
I
heard him say, and then I heard no more.
It was high noontide when I woke again,
To hear fierce voices
wrangling by my bed,--
My father's and my husband's; for, with dawn,

Gathering up valor, they had sought the tomb,
Had found me gone,
and tracked my bleeding feet

Over the pavement to Antonio's door.

Dead, they cared nothing: living, I was, theirs.
Hot raged the quarrel;

then came Justice in,
And to the court we swept--I in my shroud--

To try the cause.
This was the verdict given:
"A woman who has been to burial borne,

Made fast and left and locked in with the dead;
Who at her
husband's door has stood and plead
For entrance, and has heard her
prayer denied;
Who from her father's house is urged and chased,

Must be adjudged as dead in law and fact.
The Court pronounces the defendant--dead!
She can resume her
former ties at will,
Or may renounce them, if such be her will.
She
is no more a daughter, or a spouse,
Unless she choose, and is set free
to form
New ties, if so she choose."
O, blessed words!
That very day we knelt before the priest,
My love
and I, were wed, and life began.
Child of my child, child of Antonio's child,
Bend down and let me
kiss your wondering face.
'Tis a strange tale to tell a rose like you.

But time is brief, and, had I told you not,
Haply the story would have
met your ears
From them, the Amieri, my own blood,
Now turned
to gall, whose foul and bitter lips
Will wag with lies when once my
lips are dumb.
(Pardon me, Virgin. I was gentle once,
And thou hast
seen my wrongs. Thou wilt forgive.)
Now go, my dearest. When they
wake thee up,
To tell thee I am dead, be not too sad.
I, who have
died once, do not fear to die.
Sweet was that waking, sweeter will be this.
Close to Heaven's gate
my own Antonio sits
Waiting, and, spite of all the Frati say,
I know
I shall not stand long at that gate,
Or knock and be refused an
entrance there,
For he will start up when lie hears my voice,
The
saints will smile, and he will open quick.
Only a night to part me
from that joy.
Jesu Maria! let the dawning come.
EASTER LILIES.

Darlings of June and brides of summer sun,
Chill pipes the stormy
wind, the skies are drear;
Dull and despoiled the gardens every one:
What do you here?
We looked to see