Laurel · Robert Browning · Selections from the Poems and Plays of Robert Browning

Sebald

iambic pentameter · 332 lines · from Selections from the Poems and Plays of Robert Browning

Let the watching lids wink!Day's ablaze with eyes, think!Deep into the night, drink!

Ottima. Night? Such may be your Rhineland nights, perhaps;But this blood-red beam through the shutter's chink--We call such light the morning: let us see!Mind how you grope your way, though! How these tallNaked geraniums straggle! Push the latticeBehind that frame!--Nay, do I bid you?--Sebald,It shakes the dust down on me! Why, of courseThe slide-bolt catches. Well, are you content,Or must I find you something else to spoil?Kiss and be friends, my Sebald! Is 't full morning?Oh, don't speak then!

Sebald. Aye, thus it used to be.Ever your house was, I remember, shutTill midday; I observed that, as I strolledOn mornings through the vale here; country girlsWere noisy, washing garments in the brook,Hinds drove the slow white oxen up the hills;But no, your house was mute, would ope no eye.And wisely; you were plotting one thing there,Nature, another outside. I looked up--Rough white wood shutters, rusty iron bars,Silent as death, blind in a flood of light,Oh, I remember!--and the peasants laughedAnd said, "The old man sleeps with the young wife."This house was his, this chair, this window--his!

Ottima. Ah, the clear morning! I can see St. Mark's;That black streak is the belfry. Stop: VicenzaShould lie--there's Padua, plain enough, that blue!Look o'er my shoulder, follow my finger!

Sebald. Morning?It seems to me a night with a sun added.Where's dew, where's freshness? That bruised plant, I bruisedIn getting through the lattice yestereve,Droops as it did. See, here's my elbow's markI' the dust o' the sill.Ottima. Oh, shut the lattice, pray!

Sebald. Let me lean out. I cannot scent blood here,Foul as the morn may be.There, shut the world out!How do you feel now, Ottima? There, curseThe world and all outside! Let us throw offThis mask: how do you bear yourself? Let's outWith all of it.

Ottima. Best never speak of it.

Sebald. Best speak again and yet again of it.Till words cease to be more than words. "His blood,"For instance--let those two words mean "His blood"And nothing more. Notice, I'll say them now,"His blood."

Ottima. Assuredly if I repentedThe deed--

Sebald. Repent? Who should repent, or why?What puts that in your head? Did I once sayThat I repented?

Sebald. "The deed" and "the event"--just now it was"Our passion's fruit"--the devil take such cant!Say, once and always, Luca was a wittol,I am his cutthroat, you are--

Ottima. Here's the wine;I brought it when we left the house above,And glasses too--wine of both sorts. Black? White then?

Sebald. But am not I his cutthroat? What are you?

Ottima. There trudges on his business from the DuomoBenet the Capuchin, with his brown hoodAnd bare feet; always in one place at church,Close under the stone wall by the south entry.I used to take him for a brown cold pieceOf the wall's self, as out of it he roseTo let me pass--at first, I say, I used--Now, so has that dumb figure fastened on me,I rather should account the plastered wallA piece of him, so chilly does it strike.This, Sebald?

Sebald. No, the white wine--the white wine!Well, Ottima, I promised no new yearShould rise on us the ancient shameful way;Nor does it rise. Pour on! To your black eyes!Do you remember last damned New Year's day?

Ottima. You brought those foreign prints. We looked at themOver the wine and fruit. I had to schemeTo get him from the fire. Nothing but sayingHis own set wants the proof-mark, roused him upTo hunt them out.

Sebald. 'Faith, he is not aliveTo fondle you before my face.

Ottima. Do youFondle me then! Who means to take your lifeFor that, my Sebald?

Sebald. Hark you, Ottima!One thing to guard against. We'll not make muchOne of the other--that is, not make moreParade of warmth, childish officious coil,Than yesterday--as if, sweet, I supposedProof upon proof were needed now, now first,To show I love you--yes, still love you--love youIn spite of Luca and what's come to him--Sure sign we had him ever in our thoughts,White sneering old reproachful face and all!We'll even quarrel, love, at times, as ifWe still could lose each other, were not tiedBy this--conceive you?

Sebald. Not tied so sure!Because though I was wrought upon, have struckHis insolence back into him--am ISo surely yours?--therefore forever yours?

Ottima. Love, to be wise (one counsel pays another),Should we have--months ago, when first we loved,For instance that May morning we two stoleUnder the green ascent of sycamores--Ifwe had come upon a thing like thatSuddenly--Sebald. "A thing"--there again--"a thing!"

Ottima. Then, Venus' body, had we come uponMy husband Luca Gaddi's murdered corpseWithin there, at his couch-foot, covered close--Would you have pored upon it? Why persistIn poring now upon it? For 'tis hereAs 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 holdHis two dead hands, and say, "I hate you worse,Luca, than"--

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

Ottima. There's one thing must be done--you know what thing.Come in and help to carry. We may sleepAnywhere in the whole wide house tonight.

Sebald. What would come, think you, if we let him lieJust as he is? Let him lie there untilThe angels take him! He is turned by thisOff from his face beside, as you will see.

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

Sebald. 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!--aye, lives to sputterHis fulsome dotage on you--yes, and feignSurprise that I return at eve to sup,When all the morning I was loitering here--Bid me dispatch my business and begone.I would--

Sebald. No, I'll finish. Do you thinkI fear to speak the bare truth once for all?All we have talked of, is at bottom, fineTo suffer; there's a recompense in guilt;One must be venturous and fortunate--What is one young for, else? In age we'll sighO'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 wornHis clothes, have felt his money swell my purse--Do lovers in romances sin that way?Why, I was starving when I used to callAnd teach you music, starving while you plucked meThese flowers to smell!Ottima. My poor lost friend!

Sebald. He gave meLife, nothing else; what if he did reproachMy perfidy, and threaten, and do more--Had he no right? What was to wonder at?He sat by us at table quietly--Why must you lean across till our cheeks touched?Could he do less than make pretense to strike?'Tis not the crime's sake--I'd commit ten crimesGreater, to have this crime wiped out, undone!And you--oh, how feel you? Feel you for me?

Ottima. 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 oursMay not now be looked over--look it down!Great? Let it be great; but the joys it brought,Pay they or no its price? Come: they or itSpeak not! The past, would you give up the pastSuch as it is, pleasure and crime together?Give up that noon I owned my love for you?The garden's silence! even the single beePersisting in his toil, suddenly stopped,And where he hid you only could surmiseBy some campanula chalice set a-swing.Who stammered--"Yes, I love you?"

Sebald. And I drewBack; put far back your face with both my handsLest you should grow too full of me--your faceSo seemed athirst for my whole soul and body!

Ottima. And when I ventured to receive you here,Made you steal hither in the mornings--

Sebald. WhenI used to look up 'neath the shrub-house here,Till the red fire on its glazed windows spreadTo a yellow haze?

Ottima. Ah--my sign was, the sunInflamed the sear side of yon chestnut-treeNipped by the first frost.

Sebald. You would always laughAt my wet boots: I had to stride through grassOver my ankles.Ottima. Then our crowning night!

Sebald. The July night?

Ottima. The day of it too, Sebald!When heaven's pillars seemed o'erbowed with heat,Its black-blue canopy suffered descendClose on us both, to weigh down each to each,And smother up all life except our life.So lay we till the storm came.

Sebald. How it came!

Ottima. Buried in woods we lay, you recollect;Swift ran the searching tempest overhead;And ever and anon some bright white shaftBurned through the pine-tree roof, here burned and there,As if God's messenger through the close wood screenPlunged and replunged his weapon at a venture,Feeling for guilty thee and me; then brokeThe thunder like a whole sea overhead--

Sebald. Slower, Ottima!Do not lean on me!

Ottima. Sebald, as we lay,Who said, "Let death come now! 'Tis right to die!Right to be punished! Naught completes such blissBut woe!" Who said that?

Sebald. How did we ever rise?Was't that we slept? Why did it end?

Ottima. I felt youTaper into a point the ruffled endsOf my loose locks 'twixt both your humid lips.My hair is fallen now: knot it again!

Sebald. I kiss you now, dear Ottima, now and now!This way? Will you forgive me--be once moreMy great queen?

Ottima. Bind it thrice about my brow;Crown me your queen, your spirit's arbitress,Magnificent in sin. Say that!

Sebald. I crown youMy great white queen, my spirit's arbitress,Magnificent--

The year's at the springAnd day's at the morn;Morning's at seven;The hillside's dew-pearled;The lark's on the wing;The snail's on the thorn:God's in his heaven--All's right with the world!

Sebald. God's in his heaven! Do you hear that?Who spoke?You, you spoke!

Ottima. Oh--that little ragged girl!She must have rested on the step: we give themBut this one holiday the whole year round.Did you ever see our silk-mills--their inside?There are ten silk-mills now belong to you.She stoops to pick my double heartsease--Sh!She does not hear: call you out louder!

Sebald. Leave me!Go, get your clothes on--dress, those shoulders!

Sebald. My God, and she is emptied of it now!Outright now!--how miraculously goneAll of the grace--had she not strange grace once?Why, the blank cheek hangs listless as it likes,No purpose holds the features up together,Only the cloven brow and puckered chinStay in their places; and the very hair,That seemed to have a sort of life in it,Drops, a dead web!Ottima. Speak to me--not of me.

Sebald. That round great full-orbed face, where not anangleBroke the delicious indolence--all broken!

Ottima. To me--not of me! Ungrateful, perjured cheat!A coward, too: but ingrate's worse than all!Beggar--my slave--a fawning, cringing lie!Leave me! Betray me! I can see your drift!A lie that walks and eats and drinks!

Sebald. My God!Those morbid, olive, faultless shoulder-blades--I should have known there was no blood beneath!

Ottima. You hate me then? You hate me then?

Sebald. To thinkShe would succeed in her absurd attempt,And fascinate by sinning, show herselfSuperior--guilt from its excess superiorTo innocence! That little peasant's voiceHas righted all again. Though I be lost,I know which is the better, never fear,Of vice or virtue, purity or lust,Nature or trick! I see what I have done,Entirely now! Oh, I am proud to feelSuch torments--let the world take credit thence--I, having done my deed, pay too its price!I hate, hate--curse you! God's in his heaven!

Ottima. --Me!Me! no, no, Sebald, not yourself--kill me!Mine is the whole crime. Do but kill me--thenYourself--then--presently--first hear me speakI always meant to kill myself--wait, you!Lean on my breast--not as a breast; don't love meThe more because you lean on me, my ownHeart's Sebald! There, there, both deaths presently!

Sebald. My brain is drowned now--quite drowned: all I feelIs ... is, at swift-recurring intervals,A hurry-down within me, as of watersLoosened to smother up some ghastly pit:There they go--whirls from a black, fiery sea!Ottima. Not me--to him, O God, be merciful!

Talk by the way, while PIPPA is passing from the hillside to Orcana.Foreign Students of painting and sculpture, from Venice, assembledopposite the house of JULES, a young French statuary, at Possagno.

2nd Student. Good!--Only, so should the poet's musehave been universally acceptable, says Bluphocks, etcanibus nostris--and Delia not better known to ourliterary dogs than the boy Giovacchino!

Gottlieb. Why, somewhat heartless; for, suppose Julesa coxcomb as much as you choose, still, for this merecoxcombry, you will have brushed off--what do folksstyle it?--the bloom of his life.

6th Student. And the bride! Yes, sure enough, ourPhene! Should you have known her in her clothes?How magnificently pale!

Gottlieb. How he gazes on her! Pity--pity!

1st Student. They go in; now, silence! You three--notnearer the window, mind, than that pomegranate--justwhere the little girl, who a few minutes ago passedus singing, is seated!

Words in this poem 47

ablaze adv.: On fire; in a blaze, gleaming. Milman. [Pref. a- + blaze.]
straggle v. i.: To wander from the direct course or way; to rove; to stray; to wander from the line of march or desert the line of battle; as, when troops are on the march, the men should not straggle. [Freq. of OE. straken to roam, to stroke. See Stroke, v. t.]
vale n.: A tract of low ground, or of land between hills; a valley. [OE. val, F. val, L. vallis; perhaps akin to Gr. Avalanche, Vail to lower, Valley.]
drove n.: A collection of cattle driven, or cattle collected for driving; a number of animals, as oxen, sheep, or swine, driven in a body. [AS. draf, fr. drifan to drive. See Drive.]
belfry n.: A movable tower erected by besiegers for purposes of attack and defense. [OE. berfray movable tower used in sieges, OF. berfreit, berfroit, F. beffroi, fr. MHG. bervrit, bercvrit, G. bergfriede, fr. MHG. bergen to protect (G. bergen t]
yestereve n.: The evening of yesterday; the evening last past.
morn n.: The first part of the day; the morning; -- used chiefly in poetry. [OE. morwen, morgen, AS. morgen; akin to D. morgen, OS. morgan, G. morgen, Icel. morginn, morgunn, Sw. morgon, Dan. morgen, Goth. maúrgins. Cf. Morrow, Morning.]
assuredly adv.: Certainly; indubitably.
repent a.: Prostrate and rooting; -- said of stems. Gray. [L. repens, -entis, creeping, p. pr. of repere to creep.]
cutthroat n.: One who cuts throats; a murderer; an assassin.
duomo n.: A cathedral. See Dome, 2. [It. See Done.]
benet v. t.: To catch in a net; to insnare.
capuchin n.: A Franciscan monk of the austere branch established in 1526 by Matteo di Baschi, distinguished by wearing the long pointed cowl or capoch of St. Francis. [F. capucin a monk who wears a cowl, fr. It. cappuccio hood. See Capoch.]
damned a.: Sentenced to punishment in a future state; condemned; consigned to perdition.
insolence n.: The quality of being unusual or novel. [F. insolence, L. insolentia. See Insolent.]
stole n.: A long, loose garment reaching to the feet. [AS. stole, L. stola, Gr. stall. See Stall.]
corpse n.: A human body in general, whether living or dead; -- sometimes contemptuosly. [OF. cors (sometimes written corps), F. corps, L. corpus; akin to AS. hrif womb. See Midriff, and cf. Corse, Corselet, Corps, Cuerpo.]
tonight adv.: On this present or coming night. [Prep. to+night]
pane n.: The narrow edge of a hammer head. See Peen. [F. panne.]
undone a.: Not done or performed; neglected. [Pref. un- not + done.]
sputter v. i.: To spit, or to emit saliva from the mouth in small, scattered portions, as in rapid speaking. [From the root of spout or spit to eject from the mputh. Cf. Splutter.]
fulsome a.: Full; abundant; plenteous; not shriveled. [Full, a. + -some.]
dotage n.: Feebleness or imbecility of understanding or mind, particularly in old age; the childishness of old age; senility; as, a venerable man, now in his dotage. [From Dote, v. i.]
venturous a.: Daring; bold; hardy; fearless; venturesome; adveturous; as, a venturous soldier. [Aphetic form of OE. aventurous. See Adventurous, Venture, n.]
flown a.: Flushed, inflated.
perfidy n.: The act of violating faith or allegiance; violation of a promise or vow, or of trust reposed; faithlessness; teachery. [L. perfidia, fr. L. perfidus faithless; per (cf. Skr. para away) + fides faith: cf. F. perfidie. See Faith.]
persisting a.: Inclined to persist; tenacious of purpose; persistent.
chalice n.: A cup or bowl; especially, the cup used in the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. [OR. chalis, calice, OF. chalice, calice, F. calice, fr. L. calix, akin to Gr. helmet. Cf. Calice, Calyx.]
athirst a.: Wanting drink; thirsty. [OE. ofthurst, AS. ofpyrsted, p. p. of ofpyrstan; pref. of-, intensive + pyrstan to thirst. See Thirst.]
stride v. t.: To walk with long steps, especially in a measured or pompous manner. [AS. stridan to stride, to strive; akin to LG. striden, OFries. strida to strive, D. strijden to strive, to contend, G. streiten, OHG. stritan; of uncertain orig]
recollect v. t.: To recover or recall the knowledge of; to bring back to the mind or memory; to remember. [Pref. re- + collect: cf. L. recolligere, recollectum, to collect. Cf. Recollet.]
anon adv.: Straightway; at once. [OE. anoon, anon, anan, lit., in one (moment), fr. AS. on in + an one. See On and One.]
broke v. i.: To transact business for another. Brome. [See Broker, and cf. Brook.]
arbitress n.: A female arbiter; an arbitratrix. [From Arbiter.]
spoke n.: The radius or ray of a wheel; one of the small bars which are inserted in the hub, or nave, and which serve to support the rim or felly. [OE. spoke, spake, AS, spaca; akin to D. speek, LG. speke, OHG. speihha, G. speiche. sq. root170. Cf. Spike a nail.]
outright adv.: Immediately; without delay; at once; as, he was killed outright.
listless a.: Having no desire or inclination; indifferent; heedless; spiritless. [OE. listles, lustles. See Lust.]
ungrateful a.: Not grateful; not thankful for favors; making no returns, or making ill return for kindness, attention, etc.; ingrateful. South.
perjured a.: Guilty of perjury; having sworn falsely; forsworn.
faultless a.: Without fault; not defective or imperfect; free from blemish; free from incorrectness, vice, or offense; perfect; as, a faultless poem.
lust v. i.: To list; to like. [AS. lystan. See Lust, n., and cf. List to choose.]
presently adv.: At present; at this time; now.
statuary n.: One who practices the art of making statues. [L. statuarius, n., fr. statuarius, a., of or belonging to statues, fr. statua statue: cf. F. statuaire. See Statue.]
heartless a.: Without a heart.
coxcombry n.: The manners of a coxcomb; foppishness.
folks n.: In Anglo-Saxon times, the people of a group of townships or villages; a community; a tribe. [AS. folc; akin to D. volk, OS. & OHG. folk, G. volk, Icel. f, Sw. & Dan. folk, Lith. pulkas crowd, and perh. to E. follow.]
magnificently adv.: In a Magnificent manner.

Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.

About this text

Sebald is in the public domain. This text is taken from Selections from the Poems and Plays of Robert Browning, Project Gutenberg ebook #28041; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.

Cite as: Robert Browning, Sebald, in Selections from the Poems and Plays of Robert Browning (1864), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #28041, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/browning-selections/sebald.html, id L25138.

Form and metre

Sebald is 332 lines in 64 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 84%).

See other poems in iambic pentameter.

Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.

Rhyme words, stanza by stanza

The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.

1 AAA wink^A · think^A · drink^A
6 --A--A- here · be · out^A · curse · off · out^A · it
8 -AA-A it · blood^A · blood^A · now · blood^A
9 AA repented^A · deed^A
15 --A-A wine · year · way^A · eyes · day^A
19 ------A-----A ottima · much · more · coil · supposed · first · you^A · him · thoughts · all · if · tied · you^A
25 A--A lie^A · until · this · see^A
28 -A---------A--- think · all^A · fine · guilt · fortunate · sigh · over · place · worn · purse · way · call^A · me · smell · friend
29 A--------A me^A · reproach · more · at · quietly · touched · strike · crimes · undone · me^A
30 -A---------A----A ever · you^A · truth · ignorance · simplicity · ours · down · brought · it · past · together · you^A · bee · stopped · surmise · swing · you^A
39 -A-----A recollect · overhead^A · shaft · there · screen · venture · broke · overhead^A
47 ABCDABCD spring^A · morn^B · seven^C · pearled^D · wing^A · thorn^B · heaven^C · world^D
48 -AA that · spoke^A · spoke^A
52 A-A an^A · angle · broken^A
56 --------A---A think · attempt · herself · superior · voice · lost · fear · lust · done^A · feel · thence · price · heaven^A
57 AA---A-- me^A · me^A · then · speak · you · me^A · own · presently

Scansion, line by line

Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.

Line	Syl.	Stress
Let the watching lids wink!	6	··/˘··
Day's ablaze with eyes, think!	6	·˘/···
Deep into the night, drink!	6	······
Ottima. Night? Such may be your Rhineland nights, perhaps;	13	········/··˘/
But this blood-red beam through the shutter's chink	10	·······/˘·
--We call such light the morning: let us see!	10	·····/˘···
Mind how you grope your way, though! How these tall	10	··········
Naked geraniums straggle! Push the lattice	11	/˘˘/˘/˘··/˘
Behind that frame!--Nay, do I bid you?--Sebald,	11	·········/˘
It shakes the dust down on me! Why, of course	10	··········
The slide-bolt catches. Well, are you content,	10	···/˘···˘/
Or must I find you something else to spoil?	10	·····/˘···
Kiss and be friends, my Sebald! Is 't full morning?	12	·····/˘···/˘
Oh, don't speak then!	4	····
Sebald. Aye, thus it used to be.	8	/˘······
Ever your house was, I remember, shut	10	/˘····˘/˘·
Till midday; I observed that, as I strolled	10	·/··˘/····
On mornings through the vale here; country girls	10	·/˘····/˘·
Were noisy, washing garments in the brook,	10	·/˘/˘/˘···
Hinds drove the slow white oxen up the hills;	10	·····/˘···
But no, your house was mute, would ope no eye.	10	··········
And wisely; you were plotting one thing there,	10	·/˘··/˘···
Nature, another outside. I looked up--	10	/˘˘/˘//···
Rough white wood shutters, rusty iron bars,	10	···/˘/˘/˘·
Silent as death, blind in a flood of light,	10	/˘········
Oh, I remember!--and the peasants laughed	10	··˘/˘··/˘·
And said, "The old man sleeps with the young wife."	10	··········
This house was his, this chair, this window--his!	10	·······/˘·
Ottima. Ah, the clear morning! I can see St. Mark's;	13	······/˘·····
That black streak is the belfry. Stop: Vicenza	11	·····/˘····
Should lie--there's Padua, plain enough, that blue!	10	···/˘·˘/··
Look o'er my shoulder, follow my finger!	10	···/˘/˘·/˘
Sebald. Morning?	4	/˘/˘
It seems to me a night with a sun added.	11	·········/˘
Where's dew, where's freshness? That bruised plant, I bruised	10	···/˘·····
In getting through the lattice yestereve,	10	·/˘··/˘···
Droops as it did. See, here's my elbow's mark	10	·······/··
I' the dust o' the sill.	6	······
Ottima. Oh, shut the lattice, pray!	9	······/˘·
Sebald. Let me lean out. I cannot scent blood here,	12	/˘·····˘/···
Foul as the morn may be.	6	······
There, shut the world out!	5	·····
How do you feel now, Ottima? There, curse	10	··········
The world and all outside! Let us throw off	10	····//····
This mask: how do you bear yourself? Let's out	10	······˘/··
With all of it.	4	····
Ottima. Best never speak of it.	9	····/˘···
Sebald. Best speak again and yet again of it.	12	/˘··˘/··˘/··
Till words cease to be more than words. "His blood,"	10	··········
For instance--let those two words mean "His blood"	10	·/˘·······
And nothing more. Notice, I'll say them now,	10	·/˘·/˘····
"His blood."	2	··
Ottima. Assuredly if I repented	11	···˘/˘··˘/˘
The deed--	2	··
Sebald. Repent? Who should repent, or why?	10	/˘˘/··˘/··
What puts that in your head? Did I once say	10	··········
That I repented?	5	··˘/˘
Sebald. "The deed" and "the event"--just now it was	12	/˘····˘/····
"Our passion's fruit"--the devil take such cant!	10	//˘··/˘···
Say, once and always, Luca was a wittol,	11	···/·/˘··/˘
I am his cutthroat, you are--	7	···/···
Ottima. Here's the wine;	6	······
I brought it when we left the house above,	10	··········
And glasses too--wine of both sorts. Black? White then?	11	·/˘········
Sebald. But am not I his cutthroat? What are you?	12	/˘·····/····
Ottima. There trudges on his business from the Duomo	14	····/˘··/˘··/˘
Benet the Capuchin, with his brown hood	10	/˘········
And bare feet; always in one place at church,	10	···/······
Close under the stone wall by the south entry.	11	·········/˘
I used to take him for a brown cold piece	10	··········
Of the wall's self, as out of it he rose	10	··········
To let me pass--at first, I say, I used--	10	··········
Now, so has that dumb figure fastened on me,	11	·····/˘/˘··
I rather should account the plastered wall	10	·/˘·˘/·/˘·
A piece of him, so chilly does it strike.	10	·····/˘···
This, Sebald?	3	·/˘
Sebald. No, the white wine--the white wine!	9	/˘·······
Well, Ottima, I promised no new year	10	·····/˘···
Should rise on us the ancient shameful way;	10	·····/˘/˘·
Nor does it rise. Pour on! To your black eyes!	10	··········
Do you remember last damned New Year's day?	10	··˘/˘·····
Ottima. You brought those foreign prints. We looked at them	13	······/˘·····
Over the wine and fruit. I had to scheme	10	··········
To get him from the fire. Nothing but saying	11	·····//˘·/˘
His own set wants the proof-mark, roused him up	10	··········
To hunt them out.	4	····
Sebald. 'Faith, he is not alive	8	/˘····˘/
To fondle you before my face.	8	·/˘·····
Ottima. Do you	5	·····
Fondle me then! Who means to take your life	10	/˘········
For that, my Sebald?	5	···/˘
Sebald. Hark you, Ottima!	7	/˘·····
One thing to guard against. We'll not make much	10	··········
One of the other--that is, not make more	10	···/˘·····
Parade of warmth, childish officious coil,	10	˘/··/˘˘/˘·
Than yesterday--as if, sweet, I supposed	10	·/˘·····˘/
Proof upon proof were needed now, now first,	10	·····/˘···
To show I love you--yes, still love you--love you	11	···········
In spite of Luca and what's come to him--	10	···/˘·····
Sure sign we had him ever in our thoughts,	10	·····/·/˘·
White sneering old reproachful face and all!	10	·/˘·˘/˘···
We'll even quarrel, love, at times, as if	10	·/˘/˘·····
We still could lose each other, were not tied	10	·····/˘···
By this--conceive you?	5	··˘/·
Sebald. Not tied so sure!	6	/˘····
Because though I was wrought upon, have struck	10	··········
His insolence back into him--am I	10	·/˘˘······
So surely yours?--therefore forever yours?	10	·/˘···˘/˘·
Ottima. Love, to be wise (one counsel pays another),	14	········/˘·˘/˘
Should we have--months ago, when first we loved,	10	····˘/····
For instance that May morning we two stole	10	·/˘··/˘···
Under the green ascent of sycamores--If	11	····˘/·/˘··
we had come upon a thing like that	9	·········
Suddenly--	3	/˘˘
Sebald. "A thing"--there again--"a thing!"	9	/˘···˘/··
Ottima. Then, Venus' body, had we come upon	13	····/˘/˘·····
My husband Luca Gaddi's murdered corpse	10	·/˘/˘/˘/˘·
Within there, at his couch-foot, covered close--	10	·······/˘·
Would you have pored upon it? Why persist	10	········˘/
In poring now upon it? For 'tis here	10	·/˘·······
As much as there in the deserted house;	10	······˘/˘·
You cannot rid your eyes of it. For me,	10	·/˘·······
Now he is dead I hate him worse; I hate--	10	··········
Dare you stay here? I would go back and hold	10	··········
His two dead hands, and say, "I hate you worse,	10	··········
Luca, than"--	3	/˘·
Sebald. Off, off--take your hands off mine,	9	/˘·······
'Tis the hot evening--off! oh, morning, is it?	11	···/˘··/˘··
Ottima. There's one thing must be done--you know what thing.	13	·············
Come in and help to carry. We may sleep	10	·····/˘···
Anywhere in the whole wide house tonight.	10	/˘······˘/
Sebald. What would come, think you, if we let him lie	12	/˘··········
Just as he is? Let him lie there until	10	··········
The angels take him! He is turned by this	10	·/˘·······
Off from his face beside, as you will see.	10	····˘/····
Ottima. This dusty pane might serve for looking-glass.	13	····/˘····/˘·
Three, four--four gray hairs! Is it so you said	10	··········
A plait of hair should wave across my neck?	10	······˘/··
No--this way.	3	···
Sebald. Ottima, I would give your neck,	10	/˘········
Each splendid shoulder, both those breasts of yours,	10	·/˘/˘·····
That this were undone! Killing! Kill the world,	10	···˘//˘···
So Luca lives again!--aye, lives to sputter	11	·/˘·˘/···/˘
His fulsome dotage on you--yes, and feign	10	·/˘/˘·····
Surprise that I return at eve to sup,	10	˘/··˘/····
When all the morning I was loitering here--	10	···/˘··/˘·
Bid me dispatch my business and begone.	10	··˘/·/˘·˘/
I would--	2	··
Sebald. No, I'll finish. Do you think	9	/˘··/˘···
I fear to speak the bare truth once for all?	10	··········
All we have talked of, is at bottom, fine	10	·······/˘·
To suffer; there's a recompense in guilt;	10	·/˘··/˘···
One must be venturous and fortunate--	10	···/˘˘·/˘˘
What is one young for, else? In age we'll sigh	10	··········
O'er the wild, reckless, wicked days flown over;	10	···/˘/˘···
Still, we have lived; the vice was in its place.	10	··········
But to have eaten Luca's bread, have worn	10	···/˘/˘···
His clothes, have felt his money swell my purse--	10	·····/˘···
Do lovers in romances sin that way?	10	·/˘·˘/˘···
Why, I was starving when I used to call	10	···/˘·····
And teach you music, starving while you plucked me	11	···/˘/˘····
These flowers to smell!	5	·/˘··
Ottima. My poor lost friend!	7	·······
Sebald. He gave me	5	/˘···
Life, nothing else; what if he did reproach	10	·/˘·····˘/
My perfidy, and threaten, and do more--	10	·/˘˘·/˘···
Had he no right? What was to wonder at?	10	·······/˘·
He sat by us at table quietly--	10	·····/˘/˘˘
Why must you lean across till our cheeks touched?	10	····˘/·/··
Could he do less than make pretense to strike?	10	······˘/··
'Tis not the crime's sake--I'd commit ten crimes	10	······˘/··
Greater, to have this crime wiped out, undone!	10	/˘······˘/
And you--oh, how feel you? Feel you for me?	10	··········
Ottima. Well then, I love you better now than ever,	13	········/˘··/
And best (look at me while I speak to you)--	10	··········
Best for the crime; nor do I grieve, in truth,	10	··········
This mask, this simulated ignorance,	10	···/˘·˘/˘˘
This affectation of simplicity,	10	··˘/˘·˘/˘˘
Falls off our crime; this naked crime of ours	11	··/··/˘··/˘
May not now be looked over--look it down!	10	··········
Great? Let it be great; but the joys it brought,	10	··········
Pay they or no its price? Come: they or it	10	··········
Speak not! The past, would you give up the past	10	··········
Such as it is, pleasure and crime together?	11	····/˘··˘/˘
Give up that noon I owned my love for you?	10	··········
The garden's silence! even the single bee	10	·/˘/˘/·/˘·
Persisting in his toil, suddenly stopped,	10	˘/˘···/˘˘·
And where he hid you only could surmise	10	·····/˘·˘/
By some campanula chalice set a-swing.	11	··˘/˘˘/˘···
Who stammered--"Yes, I love you?"	7	·/˘····
Sebald. And I drew	5	/˘···
Back; put far back your face with both my hands	10	··········
Lest you should grow too full of me--your face	10	··········
So seemed athirst for my whole soul and body!	11	··˘/·····/˘
Ottima. And when I ventured to receive you here,	13	······/˘·˘/··
Made you steal hither in the mornings--	9	···/˘··/˘
Sebald. When	3	/˘·
I used to look up 'neath the shrub-house here,	10	··········
Till the red fire on its glazed windows spread	10	···/···/˘·
To a yellow haze?	5	··/˘·
Ottima. Ah--my sign was, the sun	9	·········
Inflamed the sear side of yon chestnut-tree	10	˘/·····/··
Nipped by the first frost.	5	·····
Sebald. You would always laugh	7	/˘··/··
At my wet boots: I had to stride through grass	10	··········
Over my ankles.	5	···/˘
Ottima. Then our crowning night!	9	····/˘/˘·
Sebald. The July night?	6	/˘··/·
Ottima. The day of it too, Sebald!	10	········/˘
When heaven's pillars seemed o'erbowed with heat,	10	·/˘/˘·····
Its black-blue canopy suffered descend	10	···/˘˘/˘˘/
Close on us both, to weigh down each to each,	10	··········
And smother up all life except our life.	10	·/˘·····/·
So lay we till the storm came.	7	·······
Sebald. How it came!	5	/˘···
Ottima. Buried in woods we lay, you recollect;	13	···/˘······˘/
Swift ran the searching tempest overhead;	10	···/˘/˘/˘/
And ever and anon some bright white shaft	10	·/˘·˘/····
Burned through the pine-tree roof, here burned and there,	10	··········
As if God's messenger through the close wood screen	10	···/˘·····
Plunged and replunged his weapon at a venture,	11	·····/˘··/˘
Feeling for guilty thee and me; then broke	10	/˘·/˘·····
The thunder like a whole sea overhead--	10	·/˘····/˘/
Sebald. Slower, Ottima!	7	/˘/˘···
Do not lean on me!	5	·····
Ottima. Sebald, as we lay,	8	···/˘···
Who said, "Let death come now! 'Tis right to die!	10	··········
Right to be punished! Naught completes such bliss	10	···/˘·˘/··
But woe!" Who said that?	5	·····
Sebald. How did we ever rise?	8	/˘···/˘·
Was't that we slept? Why did it end?	8	········
Ottima. I felt you	6	······
Taper into a point the ruffled ends	10	/˘·····/˘·
Of my loose locks 'twixt both your humid lips.	10	·······/˘·
My hair is fallen now: knot it again!	10	···/˘···˘/
Sebald. I kiss you now, dear Ottima, now and now!	13	/˘···········
This way? Will you forgive me--be once more	10	····˘/····
My great queen?	3	···
Ottima. Bind it thrice about my brow;	10	··········
Crown me your queen, your spirit's arbitress,	10	·····/˘/˘˘
Magnificent in sin. Say that!	8	˘/˘˘····
Sebald. I crown you	5	/˘···
My great white queen, my spirit's arbitress,	10	·····/˘/˘˘
Magnificent--	4	˘/˘˘
The year's at the spring	5	·····
And day's at the morn;	5	·····
Morning's at seven;	5	/˘·/˘
The hillside's dew-pearled;	5	·/···
The lark's on the wing;	5	·····
The snail's on the thorn:	5	·····
God's in his heaven--	5	···/˘
All's right with the world!	5	·····
Sebald. God's in his heaven! Do you hear that?	10	/˘···/····
Who spoke?	2	··
You, you spoke!	3	···
Ottima. Oh--that little ragged girl!	10	·····/˘/˘·
She must have rested on the step: we give them	11	···/˘······
But this one holiday the whole year round.	10	···/˘·····
Did you ever see our silk-mills--their inside?	10	··/·/···/·
There are ten silk-mills now belong to you.	10	······˘/··
She stoops to pick my double heartsease--Sh!	11	·····/˘··//
She does not hear: call you out louder!	9	·······/˘
Sebald. Leave me!	4	/˘··
Go, get your clothes on--dress, those shoulders!	9	·······/˘
Sebald. My God, and she is emptied of it now!	12	/˘·····/˘···
Outright now!--how miraculously gone	10	//··˘/˘˘˘·
All of the grace--had she not strange grace once?	10	··········
Why, the blank cheek hangs listless as it likes,	10	·····/˘···
No purpose holds the features up together,	11	·/˘··/˘·˘/˘
Only the cloven brow and puckered chin	10	/˘·/˘··/˘·
Stay in their places; and the very hair,	10	···/˘··/˘·
That seemed to have a sort of life in it,	10	··········
Drops, a dead web!	4	····
Ottima. Speak to me--not of me.	9	·········
Sebald. That round great full-orbed face, where not an	11	/˘·········
angle	2	/˘
Broke the delicious indolence--all broken!	11	··˘/˘/˘˘·/˘
Ottima. To me--not of me! Ungrateful, perjured cheat!	14	········˘/˘/˘·
A coward, too: but ingrate's worse than all!	10	·/˘·······
Beggar--my slave--a fawning, cringing lie!	10	/˘···/˘/˘·
Leave me! Betray me! I can see your drift!	10	··˘/······
A lie that walks and eats and drinks!	8	········
Sebald. My God!	4	/˘··
Those morbid, olive, faultless shoulder-blades--	10	·/˘/˘/˘/˘·
I should have known there was no blood beneath!	10	··········
Ottima. You hate me then? You hate me then?	11	···········
Sebald. To think	4	/˘··
She would succeed in her absurd attempt,	10	··˘/··˘/˘/
And fascinate by sinning, show herself	10	·/˘··/˘·˘/
Superior--guilt from its excess superior	11	˘/˘···˘/˘/˘
To innocence! That little peasant's voice	10	·/˘˘·/˘/˘·
Has righted all again. Though I be lost,	10	·/˘·˘/····
I know which is the better, never fear,	10	·····/˘/˘·
Of vice or virtue, purity or lust,	10	···/˘/˘˘··
Nature or trick! I see what I have done,	10	/˘········
Entirely now! Oh, I am proud to feel	10	˘/˘·······
Such torments--let the world take credit thence--	10	·/·····/˘·
I, having done my deed, pay too its price!	10	·/˘·······
I hate, hate--curse you! God's in his heaven!	10	········/˘
Ottima. --Me!	4	····
Me! no, no, Sebald, not yourself--kill me!	10	···/˘·˘/··
Mine is the whole crime. Do but kill me--then	10	··········
Yourself--then--presently--first hear me speak	10	˘/·/˘˘····
I always meant to kill myself--wait, you!	10	·/·····/··
Lean on my breast--not as a breast; don't love me	11	···········
The more because you lean on me, my own	10	··········
Heart's Sebald! There, there, both deaths presently!	10	·/˘····/˘˘
Sebald. My brain is drowned now--quite drowned: all I feel	12	/˘··········
Is ... is, at swift-recurring intervals,	10	····˘/˘/˘˘
A hurry-down within me, as of waters	11	·/˘······/˘
Loosened to smother up some ghastly pit:	10	/˘·/˘··/˘·
There they go--whirls from a black, fiery sea!	10	·······/˘·
Ottima. Not me--to him, O God, be merciful!	12	··········/˘
Talk by the way, while PIPPA is passing from the hillside to Orcana.	18	········/˘··/·····
Foreign Students of painting and sculpture, from Venice, assembled	16	/˘/˘·/˘·/˘·/˘˘/˘
opposite the house of JULES, a young French statuary, at Possagno.	17	/˘·······/˘·˘····
2nd Student. Good!--Only, so should the poet's muse	12	·/˘·/˘···/˘·
have been universally acceptable, says Bluphocks, et	13	···˘/˘˘/˘····
canibus nostris--and Delia not better known to our	14	······/˘·/˘··/
literary dogs than the boy Giovacchino!	12	/˘·˘········
Gottlieb. Why, somewhat heartless; for, suppose Jules	11	/··///˘·˘/·
a coxcomb as much as you choose, still, for this mere	12	·/˘·········
coxcombry, you will have brushed off--what do folks	10	/˘········
style it?--the bloom of his life.	7	·······
6th Student. And the bride! Yes, sure enough, our	11	/˘·····˘//˘
Phene! Should you have known her in her clothes?	9	·········
How magnificently pale!	7	·˘/˘˘˘·
Gottlieb. How he gazes on her! Pity--pity!	12	/···/˘··/˘/˘
1st Student. They go in; now, silence! You three--not	12	·/˘····/˘···
nearer the window, mind, than that pomegranate--just	11	/˘·/˘···/˘·
where the little girl, who a few minutes ago passed	13	··/˘····/˘˘/·
us singing, is seated!	6	·/˘·/˘

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