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VITTORIA COLONNA at the convent window.
VITTORIA. PARTING with friends is temporary death, | |
| As all death is. We see no more their faces, | |
| Nor hear their voices, save in memory. | |
| But messages of love give us assurance | |
| That we are not forgotten. Who shall say | 5 |
| That from the world of spirits comes no greeting, | |
| No message of remembrance? It may be | |
| The thoughts that visit us, we know not whence, | |
| Sudden as inspiration, are the whispers | |
| Of disembodied spirits, speaking to us | 10 |
| As friends, who wait outside a prison wall, | |
| Through the barred windows speak to those within. [A pause. | |
| As quiet as the lake that lies beneath me, | |
| As quiet as the tranquil sky above me, | |
| As quiet as a heart that beats no more, | 15 |
| This convent seems. Above, below, all peace! | |
| Silence and solitude, the soul’s best friends, | |
| Are with me here, and the tumultuous world | |
| Makes no more noise than the remotest planet. [A pause. | |
| O gentle spirit, unto the third circle | 20 |
| Of heaven among the blessed souls ascended, | |
| Who, living in the faith and dying for it, | |
| Have gone to their reward, I do not sigh | |
| For thee as being dead, but for myself | |
| That I am still alive. Turn those dear eyes, | 25 |
| Once so benignant to me, upon mine, | |
| That open to their tears such uncontrolled | |
| And such continual issue. Still awhile | |
| Have patience; I will come to thee at last. | |
| A few more goings in and out these doors, | 30 |
| A few more chimings of these convent bells, | |
| A few more prayers, a few more sighs and tears, | |
| And the long agony of this life will end, | |
| And I shall be with thee. If I am wanting | |
| To thy well-being, as thou art to mine, | 35 |
| Have patience; I will come to thee at last. | |
| Ye winds that loiter in these cloister gardens, | |
| Or wander far above the city walls, | |
| Bear unto him this message, that I ever | |
| Or speak or think of him, or weep for him. | 40 |
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| By unseen hands uplifted in the light | |
| Of sunset, yonder solitary cloud | |
| Floats, with its white apparel blown abroad, | |
| And wafted up to heaven. It fades away, | |
| And melts into the air. Ah, would that I | 45 |
| Could thus be wafted unto thee, Francesco, | |
| A cloud of white, an incorporeal spirit! | |
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