QUEL GIORNO PIÙ...

By Maurice Henry Hewlett

That day — it was the last of many days,

Nor could we know when such days might be given

Again — we read how Dante trod the ways

Of utmost Hell, and how his heart was riven

By sad Francesca, whose sin was forgiven

So far that, on her Paolo fixing gaze,

She supt on his again, and thought it Heaven,

She knew her gentler fate and felt it praise.

We read that lovers’ tale; each lookt at each;

But one was fearless, innocent of guile;

So did the other learn what she could teach:

We read no more, we kiss'd not, but a smile

Of proud possession flasht, hover'd a while

‘ Twixt soul and soul. There was no need for speech.