One of her days of mingled mist and sun,     

       I well remember how she paused and gazed     

       Full in my eyes, as if forbidden love     

       Were vainly seeking words which shame denied;     

       Then suddenly she stooped, and her lips brushed     

       My forehead. God gave gentle words ; she prayed,     

       "May the Christ-Mother have you in her care"—     

       Nothing besides. Passionately I rose up,     

       Willing for her sake to be crucified;     

       Stretched forth my arms to snatch her to my     

       breast,     

       And found her gone—the courtyard filled with sun.     

       Six months have passed since then—six tortured     

       months!     

       There hangs her portrait, it has felt no brush     

       Since on that April mom she went away;     

       And now the empty courtyard's filled with night,     

       And back to Florence Mona Lisa's come.     

  

       To-morrow I will go to her and say,     

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