At least to meditate and spend the day.

45

She had brought her friend with her. She had at heart

To win his homage for the unknown art

Of this dead alien priest of Italy,

This lover of the earth, and sea, and sky;

And, reading there and talking in that mood

Which comes of happiness and youthful blood

So near akin to sorrow, their discourse

Had touched on human change and pain's remorse

Amid the eternal greenness of the spring;

And, when they came to part, there had seemed to ring

A note of trouble in Griselda's voice,

A sigh as if in grief for human joys,

An echo of unspoken tenderness,

Which caused the Prince to hold her hand in his

One little moment longer than was right,

When they had shaken hands and bid good night.

And so he wrote that evening on the spur

Of the first tender impulse of the hour

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