Otti.

Seb.

Love

Not tied so sure

Because tho' I was wrought upon-have struck
His insolence back into him—am I

So surely yours?—therefore, forever yours?

Otti. Love, to be wise, (one counsel pays another)
Should we have-months ago-when first we loved,
For instance that May morning we two stole
Under the green ascent of sycamores-

If we had come upon a thing like that
Suddenly-
Seb.

"A thing".. there again-" a thing!"
Otti. Then, Venus' body, had we come upon
My husband Luca Gaddi's murdered corpse
Within there, at his couch-foot, covered close-
Would you have pored upon it? Why persist
In poring now upon it? For 'tis here-

As much as there in the deserted house—
You cannot rid your eyes of it: for me,
Now he is dead I hate him worse-I hate-
Dare you stay here? I would go back and hold
His two dead hands, and say, I hate you worse
Luca, than-

Seb.

Off, off; take your hands off mine! 'Tis the hot evening-off! oh, morning, is it?

Otti. There's one thing must be done-you know

what thing.

Come in and help to carry.

We may sleep

Anywhere in the whole wide house to-night.

Seb. What would come, think you, if we let him lie Just as he is? Let him lie there until

The angels take him he is turned by this

Off from his face, beside, as you will see.

Otti. This dusty pane might serve for looking-glass. Three, four-four gray hairs! Is it so you said A plait of hair should wave across my neck? No-this way!

Seb.

Ottima, I would give your neck, Each splendid shoulder, both those breasts of yours, That this were undone! Killing?-Kill the world So Luca lives again !—Ay, lives to sputter His fulsome dotage on you-yes, and feign Surprise that I returned at eve to sup, When all the morning I was loitering here— Bid me dispatch my business and begone. I would

Otti. See!

Seb.

No, I'll finish! Do you think
I fear to speak the bare truth once for all?
All we have talked of is, at bottom, fine
To suffer there's a recompense in guilt;
One must be venturous and fortunate-
What is one young for, else? In age we'll sigh
O'er the wild, reckless, wicked days flown over;
Still we have lived! The vice was in its place.
But to have eaten Luca's bread, have worn
His clothes, have felt his money swell my purse—
Do lovers in romances sin that way?

Why, I was starving when I used to call

And teach you music-starving while you plucked me These flowers to smell!

Otti.

Seb.

My poor lost friend!

Life-nothing less: what if he did reproach
My perfidy, and threaten, and do more—
Had he no right? What was to wonder at?
He sate by us at table quietly—

He gave me

Why must you lean across till our cheeks touch'd?
Could he do less than make pretence to strike me?
'Tis not for the crime's sake-I'd commit ten crimes
Greater, to have this crime wiped out—undone !
And you-O, how feel you? feel you for me?
Otti. Well, then-I love you better now than ever-

And best (look at me while I speak to you)—
Best for the crime-nor do I grieve, in truth,
This mask, this simulated ignorance,

This affectation of simplicity,

Falls off our crime; this naked crime of ours

May not, now, be looked over-look it down, then!
Great? let it be great-but the joys it brought,
Pay they or no its price? Come-they or it!
Speak not! The past, would you give up the past
Such as it is, pleasure and crime together?
Give up that noon I owned my love for you—
The garden's silence-even the single bee
Persisting in his toil, suddenly stopt

And where he hid you only could surmise

By some campanula's chalice set a-swing
As he clung there-"Yes, I love you!"

Seb.
And I drew
Back; put far back your face with both my hands
Lest you should grow too full of me-your face
So seemed athirst for my whole soul and body!
Otti. And when I ventured to receive you here,
Made you steal hither in the mornings-

Seb.

When

I used to look up 'neath the shrub-house here,
Till the red fire on its glazed windows spread
To a yellow haze?

Otti.

Ah-my sign was, the sun

Inflamed the sere side of yon chestnut-tree
Nipt by the first frost.

Seb.

You would always laugh

At my wet boots-I had to stride thro' grass

Over my ankles.

Otti. Then our crowning night—

Seb. The July night?

Otti. The day of it too, Sebald !

When the heaven's pillars seemed o'erbowed with heat,

Its black-blue canopy seemed let descend

Close on us both, to weigh down each to each,

And smother up all life except our life.

So lay we till the storm came.

Seb. How it came !

Otti. Buried in woods we lay, you recollect; Swift ran the searching tempest overhead;

And ever and anon some bright white shaft

Burnt thro' the pine-tree roof—here burnt and there,
As if God's messenger thro' the close wood screen
Plunged and replunged his weapon at a venture,
Feeling for guilty thee and me: then broke
The thunder like a whole sea overhead-

Seb. Yes!

Otti. -While I stretched myself upon you, hands
To hands, my mouth to your hot mouth, and shook
All my locks loose and covered you with them-
You, Sebald, the same you—

Seb. Slower, Ottima

Otti. And as we lay—

Seb. Less vehemently! Love me

Forgive me take not words-mere words-to heartYour breath is worse than wine! Breathe slow, speak

slow

Do not lean on me

Otti. Sebald, as we lay,

Rising and falling only with our pants,

Who said, "Let death come now—'tis right to die!
Right to be punished-nought completes such bliss
But woe!" Who said that?

Seb. How did we ever rise?

Was't that we slept? Why did it end?

Otti.

Fresh tapering to a point the ruffled ends

I felt you,

Of my loose locks 'twixt both your humid lips(My hair is fallen now-knot it again!)