And so I sang to that. O thou Who liftedst me from out my shame! Wert thou content when Skagi came, Put his own chaplet on my brow, And bent and kissed his own harp-frame?
_Poi disse un altro.... "Io son Buonconte: Giovanna o altri non ha di me cura; Per ch' io vo tra costor con bassa fronte."_
_Seguito il terzo spirito al secondo, "Ricorditi di me, che son la Pia; Siena mi fe, disfecemi Maremma. Salsi colui che inannellata pria Disposata m' avea colla sua gemma."_
Sister, the sun has ceased to shine; By companies of twain and trine Stars gather; from the sea The moon comes momently.
On all the roads that ring our hill The sighing and the hymns are still: It is our time to gain Strength for to-morrow's pain.
Yet still your eyes are wholly bent Upon the way that Virgil went, Following Sordello's sign, With the dark Florentine.
Night now has barred their upward track: There where the mountain-side folds back And in the Vale of Flowers The Princes count their hours
Those three friends sit in the clear starlight With the green-clad angels left and right,-- Soul made by wakeful soul More earnest for the goal.
So let us, sister, though our place Is barren of that Valley's grace, Sit hand in hand, till we Seem rich as those friends be.
Brother, 't were sweet your hand to feel In mine; it would a little heal The shame that makes me poor, And dumb at the heart's core.
But where our spirits felt Love's dearth, Down on the green and pleasant earth, Remains the fleshly shell, Love's garment tangible.
So now our hands have naught to say: Heart unto heart some other way Must utter forth its pain, Must glee or comfort gain.
Ah, no! For souls like you and me Some comfort waits, but never glee: Not yours the young men's singing In Heaven, at the bride-bringing;
Not mine, beside God's living waters, Dance of the marriageable daughters, The laughter and the ease Beneath His summer trees.
In fair Arezzo's halls and bowers My Giovanna speeds her hours Delicately, nor cares To shorten by her prayers
My days upon this mount of ruth: If those who come from earth speak sooth, Though still I call and call, She does not heed at all.
And if aright your words I read At Dante's passing, he you wed Dipped from the drains of Hell The marriage hydromel.