He replied—The first word I heard ever from his lips,All himself in it,—an eternityOf speech, to match the immeasurable depthO' the soul that then broke silence—"I am yours."So did the star rise, soon to lead my step,Lead on, nor pause before it should stand stillAbove the House o' the Babe,—my babe to be,That knew me first and thus made me know him,That had his right of life and claim on mine,And would not let me die till he was born,But pricked me at the heart to save us both,Saying, "Have you the will? Leave God the way!"And the way was Caponsacchi—"mine," thank God!He was mine, he is mine, he will be mine.No pause i' the leading and the light! I know,Next night there was a cloud came, and not he:But I prayed through the darkness till it brokeAnd let him shine. The second night, he came."The plan is rash; the project desperate:In such a flight needs must I risk your life,Give food for falsehood, folly or mistake,Ground for your husband's rancor and revenge"—So he began again, with the same face.I felt that, the same loyalty—one starTurning now red that was so white before—One service apprehended newly: justA word of mine and there the white was back!"No, friend, for you will take me! 'T is yourselfRisk all, not I,—who let you, for I trustIn the compensating great God: enough!I know you: when is it that you will come?""To-morrow at the day's dawn." Then I heardWhat I should do: how to prepare for flightAnd where to fly.That night my husband bade"—You, whom I loathe, beware you break my sleepThis whole night! Couch beside me like the corpseI would you were!" The rest you know, I think—How I found Caponsacchi and escaped.And this man, men call sinner? Jesus Christ!Of whom men said, with mouths Thyself mad'st once,"He hath a devil"—say he was Thy saint,My Caponsacchi! Shield and show—unshroudIn Thine own time the glory of the soulIf aught obscure,—if ink-spot, from vile pensScribbling a charge against him—(I was gladThen, for the first time, that I could not write)—Flirted his way, have flecked the blaze!For me,'T is otherwise: let men take, sift my thoughts—Thoughts I throw like the flax for sun to bleach!I did pray, do pray, in the prayer shall die,"Oh, to have Caponsacchi for my guide!"Ever the face upturned to mine, the handHolding my hand across the world,—a senseThat reads, as only such can read, the markGod sets on woman, signifying soShe should—shall peradventure—be divine;Yet 'ware, the whole, how weakness mars the printAnd makes confusion, leaves the thing men see,—Not this man sees,—who from his soul, rewritesThe obliterated charter,—love and strengthMending what 's marred. "So kneels a votarist,Weeds some poor waste traditionary plot,Where shrine once was, where temple yet may be,Purging the place but worshipping the while,By faith and not by sight, sight clearest so,—Such way the saints work,"—says Don Celestine.But I, not privileged to see a saintOf old when such walked earth with crown and palm,If I call "saint" what saints call something else—The saints must bear with me, impute the faultTo a soul i' the bud, so starved by ignorance,Stinted of warmth, it will not blow this yearNor recognize the orb which Spring-flowers know.But if meanwhile some insect with a heartWorth floods of lazy music, spendthrift joy—Some fire-fly renounced Spring for my dwarfed cup,Crept close to me, brought lustre for the dark,Comfort against the cold,—what though excessOf comfort should miscall the creature—sun?What did the sun to hinder while harsh handsPetal by petal, crude and colorless,Tore me? This one heart gave me all the Spring!Is all told? There 's the journey: and where 's timeTo tell you how that heart burst out in shine?Yet certain points do press on me too hard.Each place must have a name, though I forget:How strange it was—there where the plain beginsAnd the small river mitigates its flow—When eve was fading fast, and my soul sank,And he divined what surge of bitterness,In overtaking me, would float me backWhence I was carried by the striding day—So,—"This gray place was famous once," said he—And he began that legend of the placeAs if in answer to the unspoken fear,And told me all about a brave man dead,Which lifted me and let my soul go on!How did he know too—at that town's approachBy the rock-side—that in coming near the signsOf life, the house-roofs and the church and tower,I saw the old boundary and wall o' the worldRise plain as ever round me, hard and cold,As if the broken circlet joined again,Tightened itself about me with no break,—As if the town would turn Arezzo's self,—The husband there,—the friends my enemies,All ranged against me, not an avenueTo try, but would be blocked and drive me backOn him,—this other, ... oh the heart in that!Did not he find, bring, put into my armsA new-born babe?—and I saw faces beamOf the young mother proud to teach me joy,And gossips round expecting my surpriseAt the sudden hole through earth that lets in heaven.I could believe himself by his strong willHad woven around me what I thought the worldWe went along in, every circumstance,Towns, flowers and faces, all things helped so well!For, through the journey, was it naturalSuch comfort should arise from first to last?As I look back, all is one milky way;Still bettered more, the more remembered, soDo new stars bud while I but search for old,And fill all gaps i' the glory, and grow him—Him I now see make the shine everywhere.Even at the last when the bewildered flesh,The cloud of weariness about my soulClogging too heavily, sucked down all sense,—Still its last voice was, "He will watch and care;Let the strength go, I am content: he stays!"I doubt not he did stay and care for all—From that sick minute when the head swam round,And the eyes looked their last and died on him,As in his arms he caught me, and, you say,Carried me in, that tragical red eve,And laid me where I next returned to lifeIn the other red of morning, two red platesThat crushed together, crushed the time between,And are since then a solid fire to me,—When in, my dreadful husband and the worldBroke,—and I saw him, master, by hell's right,And saw my angel helplessly held backBy guards that helped the malice—the lamb prone,The serpent towering and triumphant—thenCame all the strength back in a sudden swell,I did for once see right, do right, give tongueThe adequate protest: for a worm must turnIf it would have its wrong observed by God.I did spring up, attempt to thrust asideThat ice-block 'twixt the sun and me, lay lowThe neutralizer of all good and truth.If I sinned so,—never obey voice moreO' the Just and Terrible, who bids us—"Bear!"Not—"Stand by, bear to see my angels bear!"I am clear it was on impulse to serve GodNot save myself,—no—nor my child unborn!Had I else waited patiently till now?—Who saw my old kind parents, silly-soothAnd too much trustful, for their worst of faults,Cheated, browbeaten, stripped and starved, cast outInto the kennel: I remonstrated,Then sank to silence, for,—their woes at end,Themselves gone,—only I was left to plague.If only I was threatened and belied,What matter? I could bear it and did bear;It was a comfort, still one lot for all:They were not persecuted for my sakeAnd I, estranged, the single happy one.But when at last, all by myself I stoodObeying the clear voice which bade me rise,Not for my own sake but my babe unborn,And take the angel's hand was sent to help—And found the old adversary athwart the path—Not my hand simply struck from the angel's, butThe very angel's self made foul i' the faceBy the fiend who struck there,—that I would not bear,That only I resisted! So, my firstAnd last resistance was invincible.Prayers move God; threats, and nothing else, move men!I must have prayed a man as he were GodWhen I implored the Governor to rightMy parents' wrongs: the answer was a smile.The Archbishop,—did I clasp his feet enough,Hide my face hotly on them, while I toldMore than I dared make my own mother know?The profit was—compassion and a jest.This time, the foolish prayers were done with, rightUsed might, and solemnized the sport at once.All was against the combat: vantage, mine?The runaway avowed, the accomplice-wife,In company with the plan-contriving priest?Yet, shame thus rank and patent, I struck, bare,At foe from head to foot in magic mail,And off it withered, cobweb-armoryAgainst the lightning! 'T was truth singed the liesAnd saved me, not the vain sword nor weak speech!You see, I will not have the service fail!I say, the angel saved me: I am safe!Others may want and wish, I wish nor wantOne point o' the circle plainer, where I standTraced round about with white to front the world.What of the calumny I came across,What o' the way to the end?—the end crowns all.The judges judged aright i' the main, gave meThe uttermost of my heart's desire, a truceFrom torture and Arezzo, balm for hurt,With the quiet nuns,—God recompense the good!Who said and sang away the ugly past.And, when my final fortune was revealed,What safety, while, amid my parents' arms,My babe was given me! Yes, he saved my babe:It would not have peeped forth, the bird-like thing,Through that Arezzo noise and trouble: backHad it returned nor ever let me see!But the sweet peace cured all, and let me liveAnd give my bird the life among the leavesGod meant him! Weeks and months of quietude,I could lie in such peace and learn so much—Begin the task, I see how needful now,Of understanding somewhat of my past,—Know life a little, I should leave so soon.Therefore, because this man restored my soul,All has been right; I have gained my gain, enjoyedAs well as suffered,—nay, got foretaste tooOf better life beginning where this ends—All through the breathing-while allowed me thus,Which let good premonitions reach my soulUnthwarted, and benignant influence flowAnd interpenetrate and change my heart,Uncrossed by what was wicked,—nay, unkind.For, as the weakness of my time drew nigh,Nobody did me one disservice more,Spoke coldly or looked strangely, broke the loveI lay in the arms of, till my boy was born,Born all in love, with naught to spoil the blissA whole long fortnight: in a life like mineA fortnight filled with bliss is long and much.All women are not mothers of a boy,Though they live twice the length of my whole life,And, as they fancy, happily all the same.There I lay, then, all my great fortnight long,As if it would continue, broaden outHappily more and more, and lead to heaven:Christmas before me,—was not that a chance?I never realized God's birth before—How he grew likest God in being born.This time I felt like Mary, had my babeLying a little on my breast like hers.So all went on till, just four days ago—The night and the tap.Oh, it shall be successTo the whole of our poor family! My friends... Nay, father and mother,—give me back my word!They have been rudely stripped of life, disgracedLike children who must needs go clothed too fine,Carry the garb of Carnival in Lent.If they too much affected frippery,They have been punished and submit themselves,Say no word: all is over, they see GodWho will not be extreme to mark their faultOr he had granted respite: they are safe.For that most woeful man my husband once,Who, needing respite, still draws vital breath,I—pardon him? So far as lies in me,I give him for his good the life he takes,Praying the world will therefore acquiesce.Let him make God amends,—none, none to meWho thank him rather that, whereas strange fateMockingly styled him husband and me wife,Himself this way at least pronounced divorce,Blotted the marriage-bond: this blood of mineFlies forth exultingly at any door,Washes the parchment white, and thanks the blow.We shall not meet in this world nor the next,But where will God be absent? In his faceIs light, but in his shadow healing too:Let Guido touch the shadow and be healed!And as my presence was importunate,—My earthly good, temptation and a snare,—Nothing about me but drew somehow downHis hate upon me,—somewhat so excusedTherefore, since hate was thus the truth of him,—May my evanishment forevermoreHelp further to relieve the heart that castSuch object of its natural loathing forth!So he was made; he nowise made himself:I could not love him, but his mother did.His soul has never lain beside my soul;But for the unresisting body,—thanks!He burned that garment spotted by the flesh.Whatever he touched is rightly ruined: plagueIt caught, and disinfection it had cravedStill but for Guido; I am saved through himSo as by fire; to him—thanks and farewell!Even for my babe, my boy, there 's safety thence—From the sudden death of me, I mean: we poorWeak souls, how we endeavor to be strong!I was already using up my life,—This portion, now, should do him such a good,This other go to keep off such an ill!The great life; see, a breath and it is gone!So is detached, so left all by itselfThe little life, the fact which means so much.Shall not God stoop the kindlier to his work,His marvel of creation, foot would crush,Now that the hand he trusted to receiveAnd hold it, lets the treasure fall perforce?The better; he shall have in orphanageHis own way all the clearlier: if my babeOutlived the hour—and he has lived two weeks—It is through God who knows I am not by.Who is it makes the soft gold hair turn black,And sets the tongue, might lie so long at rest,Trying to talk? Let us leave God alone!Why should I doubt he will explain in timeWhat I feel now, but fail to find the words?My babe nor was, nor is, nor yet shall beCount Guido Franceschini's child at all—Only his mother's, born of love not hate!So shall I have my rights in after-time.It seems absurd, impossible to-day;So seems so much else, not explained but known!Ah! Friends, I thank and bless you every one!No more now: I withdraw from earth and manTo my own soul, compose myself for God.Well, and there is more! Yes, my end of breathShall hear away my soul in being true!He is still here, not outside with the world,Here, here, I have him in his rightful place!'T is now, when I am most upon the move,I feel for what I verily find—againThe face, again the eyes, again, through all,The heart and its immeasurable loveOf my one friend, my only, all my own,Who put his breast between the spears and me.Ever with Caponsacchi! OtherwiseHere alone would be failure, loss to me—How much more loss to him, with life debarredFrom giving life, love locked from love's display,The day-star stopped its task that makes night morn!O lover of my life, O soldier-saint,No work begun shall ever pause for death!Love will be helpful to me more and moreI' the coming course, the new path I must tread—My weak hand in thy strong hand, strong for that!Tell him that if I seem without him now,That 's the world's insight! Oh, he understands!He is at Civita—do I once doubtThe world again is holding us apart?He had been here, displayed in my behalfThe broad brow that reverberates the truth,And flashed the word God gave him, back to man!I know where the free soul is flown! My fateWill have been hard for even him to bear:Let it confirm him in the trust of God,Showing how holily he dared the deed!And, for the rest,—say, from the deed, no touchOf harm came, but all good, all happiness,Not one faint fleck of failure! Why explain?What I see, oh, he sees and how much more!Tell him,—I know not wherefore the true wordShould fade and fall unuttered at the last—It was the name of him I sprang to meetWhen came the knock, the summons and the end."My great heart, my strong hand are back again!"I would have sprung to these, beckoning acrossMurder and hell gigantic and distinctO' the threshold, posted to exclude me heaven:He is ordained to call and I to come!Do not the dead wear flowers when dressed for God?Say,—I am all in flowers from head to foot!Say,—not one flower of all he said and did,Might seem to flit unnoticed, fade unknown,But dropped a seed, has grown a balsam-treeWhereof the blossoming perfumes the placeAt this supreme of moments! He is a priest;He cannot marry therefore, which is right:I think he would not marry if he could.Marriage on earth seems such a counterfeit,Mere imitation of the inimitable:In heaven we have the real and true and sure.'T is there they neither marry nor are givenIn marriage but are as the angels: right,Oh how right that is, how like Jesus ChristTo say that! Marriage-making for the earth,With gold so much,—birth, power, repute so much,Or beauty, youth so much, in lack of these!Be as the angels rather, who, apart,Know themselves into one, are found at lengthMarried, but marry never, no, nor giveIn marriage; they are man and wife at onceWhen the true time is: here we have to waitNot so long neither! Could we by a wishHave what we will and get the future now,Would we wish aught done undone in the past?So, let him wait God's instant men call years;Meantime hold hard by truth and his great soul,Do out the duty! Through such souls aloneGod stooping shows sufficient of his lightFor us i' the dark to rise by. And I rise.
He replied—The first word I heard ever from his lips,All himself in it,—an eternityOf speech, to match the immeasurable depthO' the soul that then broke silence—"I am yours."So did the star rise, soon to lead my step,Lead on, nor pause before it should stand stillAbove the House o' the Babe,—my babe to be,That knew me first and thus made me know him,That had his right of life and claim on mine,And would not let me die till he was born,But pricked me at the heart to save us both,Saying, "Have you the will? Leave God the way!"And the way was Caponsacchi—"mine," thank God!He was mine, he is mine, he will be mine.No pause i' the leading and the light! I know,Next night there was a cloud came, and not he:But I prayed through the darkness till it brokeAnd let him shine. The second night, he came."The plan is rash; the project desperate:In such a flight needs must I risk your life,Give food for falsehood, folly or mistake,Ground for your husband's rancor and revenge"—So he began again, with the same face.I felt that, the same loyalty—one starTurning now red that was so white before—One service apprehended newly: justA word of mine and there the white was back!"No, friend, for you will take me! 'T is yourselfRisk all, not I,—who let you, for I trustIn the compensating great God: enough!I know you: when is it that you will come?""To-morrow at the day's dawn." Then I heardWhat I should do: how to prepare for flightAnd where to fly.That night my husband bade"—You, whom I loathe, beware you break my sleepThis whole night! Couch beside me like the corpseI would you were!" The rest you know, I think—How I found Caponsacchi and escaped.And this man, men call sinner? Jesus Christ!Of whom men said, with mouths Thyself mad'st once,"He hath a devil"—say he was Thy saint,My Caponsacchi! Shield and show—unshroudIn Thine own time the glory of the soulIf aught obscure,—if ink-spot, from vile pensScribbling a charge against him—(I was gladThen, for the first time, that I could not write)—Flirted his way, have flecked the blaze!For me,'T is otherwise: let men take, sift my thoughts—Thoughts I throw like the flax for sun to bleach!I did pray, do pray, in the prayer shall die,"Oh, to have Caponsacchi for my guide!"Ever the face upturned to mine, the handHolding my hand across the world,—a senseThat reads, as only such can read, the markGod sets on woman, signifying soShe should—shall peradventure—be divine;Yet 'ware, the whole, how weakness mars the printAnd makes confusion, leaves the thing men see,—Not this man sees,—who from his soul, rewritesThe obliterated charter,—love and strengthMending what 's marred. "So kneels a votarist,Weeds some poor waste traditionary plot,Where shrine once was, where temple yet may be,Purging the place but worshipping the while,By faith and not by sight, sight clearest so,—Such way the saints work,"—says Don Celestine.But I, not privileged to see a saintOf old when such walked earth with crown and palm,If I call "saint" what saints call something else—The saints must bear with me, impute the faultTo a soul i' the bud, so starved by ignorance,Stinted of warmth, it will not blow this yearNor recognize the orb which Spring-flowers know.But if meanwhile some insect with a heartWorth floods of lazy music, spendthrift joy—Some fire-fly renounced Spring for my dwarfed cup,Crept close to me, brought lustre for the dark,Comfort against the cold,—what though excessOf comfort should miscall the creature—sun?What did the sun to hinder while harsh handsPetal by petal, crude and colorless,Tore me? This one heart gave me all the Spring!Is all told? There 's the journey: and where 's timeTo tell you how that heart burst out in shine?Yet certain points do press on me too hard.Each place must have a name, though I forget:How strange it was—there where the plain beginsAnd the small river mitigates its flow—When eve was fading fast, and my soul sank,And he divined what surge of bitterness,In overtaking me, would float me backWhence I was carried by the striding day—So,—"This gray place was famous once," said he—And he began that legend of the placeAs if in answer to the unspoken fear,And told me all about a brave man dead,Which lifted me and let my soul go on!How did he know too—at that town's approachBy the rock-side—that in coming near the signsOf life, the house-roofs and the church and tower,I saw the old boundary and wall o' the worldRise plain as ever round me, hard and cold,As if the broken circlet joined again,Tightened itself about me with no break,—As if the town would turn Arezzo's self,—The husband there,—the friends my enemies,All ranged against me, not an avenueTo try, but would be blocked and drive me backOn him,—this other, ... oh the heart in that!Did not he find, bring, put into my armsA new-born babe?—and I saw faces beamOf the young mother proud to teach me joy,And gossips round expecting my surpriseAt the sudden hole through earth that lets in heaven.I could believe himself by his strong willHad woven around me what I thought the worldWe went along in, every circumstance,Towns, flowers and faces, all things helped so well!For, through the journey, was it naturalSuch comfort should arise from first to last?As I look back, all is one milky way;Still bettered more, the more remembered, soDo new stars bud while I but search for old,And fill all gaps i' the glory, and grow him—Him I now see make the shine everywhere.Even at the last when the bewildered flesh,The cloud of weariness about my soulClogging too heavily, sucked down all sense,—Still its last voice was, "He will watch and care;Let the strength go, I am content: he stays!"I doubt not he did stay and care for all—From that sick minute when the head swam round,And the eyes looked their last and died on him,As in his arms he caught me, and, you say,Carried me in, that tragical red eve,And laid me where I next returned to lifeIn the other red of morning, two red platesThat crushed together, crushed the time between,And are since then a solid fire to me,—When in, my dreadful husband and the worldBroke,—and I saw him, master, by hell's right,And saw my angel helplessly held backBy guards that helped the malice—the lamb prone,The serpent towering and triumphant—thenCame all the strength back in a sudden swell,I did for once see right, do right, give tongueThe adequate protest: for a worm must turnIf it would have its wrong observed by God.I did spring up, attempt to thrust asideThat ice-block 'twixt the sun and me, lay lowThe neutralizer of all good and truth.If I sinned so,—never obey voice moreO' the Just and Terrible, who bids us—"Bear!"Not—"Stand by, bear to see my angels bear!"I am clear it was on impulse to serve GodNot save myself,—no—nor my child unborn!Had I else waited patiently till now?—Who saw my old kind parents, silly-soothAnd too much trustful, for their worst of faults,Cheated, browbeaten, stripped and starved, cast outInto the kennel: I remonstrated,Then sank to silence, for,—their woes at end,Themselves gone,—only I was left to plague.If only I was threatened and belied,What matter? I could bear it and did bear;It was a comfort, still one lot for all:They were not persecuted for my sakeAnd I, estranged, the single happy one.But when at last, all by myself I stoodObeying the clear voice which bade me rise,Not for my own sake but my babe unborn,And take the angel's hand was sent to help—And found the old adversary athwart the path—Not my hand simply struck from the angel's, butThe very angel's self made foul i' the faceBy the fiend who struck there,—that I would not bear,That only I resisted! So, my firstAnd last resistance was invincible.Prayers move God; threats, and nothing else, move men!I must have prayed a man as he were GodWhen I implored the Governor to rightMy parents' wrongs: the answer was a smile.The Archbishop,—did I clasp his feet enough,Hide my face hotly on them, while I toldMore than I dared make my own mother know?The profit was—compassion and a jest.This time, the foolish prayers were done with, rightUsed might, and solemnized the sport at once.All was against the combat: vantage, mine?The runaway avowed, the accomplice-wife,In company with the plan-contriving priest?Yet, shame thus rank and patent, I struck, bare,At foe from head to foot in magic mail,And off it withered, cobweb-armoryAgainst the lightning! 'T was truth singed the liesAnd saved me, not the vain sword nor weak speech!You see, I will not have the service fail!I say, the angel saved me: I am safe!Others may want and wish, I wish nor wantOne point o' the circle plainer, where I standTraced round about with white to front the world.What of the calumny I came across,What o' the way to the end?—the end crowns all.The judges judged aright i' the main, gave meThe uttermost of my heart's desire, a truceFrom torture and Arezzo, balm for hurt,With the quiet nuns,—God recompense the good!Who said and sang away the ugly past.And, when my final fortune was revealed,What safety, while, amid my parents' arms,My babe was given me! Yes, he saved my babe:It would not have peeped forth, the bird-like thing,Through that Arezzo noise and trouble: backHad it returned nor ever let me see!But the sweet peace cured all, and let me liveAnd give my bird the life among the leavesGod meant him! Weeks and months of quietude,I could lie in such peace and learn so much—Begin the task, I see how needful now,Of understanding somewhat of my past,—Know life a little, I should leave so soon.Therefore, because this man restored my soul,All has been right; I have gained my gain, enjoyedAs well as suffered,—nay, got foretaste tooOf better life beginning where this ends—All through the breathing-while allowed me thus,Which let good premonitions reach my soulUnthwarted, and benignant influence flowAnd interpenetrate and change my heart,Uncrossed by what was wicked,—nay, unkind.For, as the weakness of my time drew nigh,Nobody did me one disservice more,Spoke coldly or looked strangely, broke the loveI lay in the arms of, till my boy was born,Born all in love, with naught to spoil the blissA whole long fortnight: in a life like mineA fortnight filled with bliss is long and much.All women are not mothers of a boy,Though they live twice the length of my whole life,And, as they fancy, happily all the same.There I lay, then, all my great fortnight long,As if it would continue, broaden outHappily more and more, and lead to heaven:Christmas before me,—was not that a chance?I never realized God's birth before—How he grew likest God in being born.This time I felt like Mary, had my babeLying a little on my breast like hers.So all went on till, just four days ago—The night and the tap.Oh, it shall be successTo the whole of our poor family! My friends... Nay, father and mother,—give me back my word!They have been rudely stripped of life, disgracedLike children who must needs go clothed too fine,Carry the garb of Carnival in Lent.If they too much affected frippery,They have been punished and submit themselves,Say no word: all is over, they see GodWho will not be extreme to mark their faultOr he had granted respite: they are safe.For that most woeful man my husband once,Who, needing respite, still draws vital breath,I—pardon him? So far as lies in me,I give him for his good the life he takes,Praying the world will therefore acquiesce.Let him make God amends,—none, none to meWho thank him rather that, whereas strange fateMockingly styled him husband and me wife,Himself this way at least pronounced divorce,Blotted the marriage-bond: this blood of mineFlies forth exultingly at any door,Washes the parchment white, and thanks the blow.We shall not meet in this world nor the next,But where will God be absent? In his faceIs light, but in his shadow healing too:Let Guido touch the shadow and be healed!And as my presence was importunate,—My earthly good, temptation and a snare,—Nothing about me but drew somehow downHis hate upon me,—somewhat so excusedTherefore, since hate was thus the truth of him,—May my evanishment forevermoreHelp further to relieve the heart that castSuch object of its natural loathing forth!So he was made; he nowise made himself:I could not love him, but his mother did.His soul has never lain beside my soul;But for the unresisting body,—thanks!He burned that garment spotted by the flesh.Whatever he touched is rightly ruined: plagueIt caught, and disinfection it had cravedStill but for Guido; I am saved through himSo as by fire; to him—thanks and farewell!Even for my babe, my boy, there 's safety thence—From the sudden death of me, I mean: we poorWeak souls, how we endeavor to be strong!I was already using up my life,—This portion, now, should do him such a good,This other go to keep off such an ill!The great life; see, a breath and it is gone!So is detached, so left all by itselfThe little life, the fact which means so much.Shall not God stoop the kindlier to his work,His marvel of creation, foot would crush,Now that the hand he trusted to receiveAnd hold it, lets the treasure fall perforce?The better; he shall have in orphanageHis own way all the clearlier: if my babeOutlived the hour—and he has lived two weeks—It is through God who knows I am not by.Who is it makes the soft gold hair turn black,And sets the tongue, might lie so long at rest,Trying to talk? Let us leave God alone!Why should I doubt he will explain in timeWhat I feel now, but fail to find the words?My babe nor was, nor is, nor yet shall beCount Guido Franceschini's child at all—Only his mother's, born of love not hate!So shall I have my rights in after-time.It seems absurd, impossible to-day;So seems so much else, not explained but known!Ah! Friends, I thank and bless you every one!No more now: I withdraw from earth and manTo my own soul, compose myself for God.Well, and there is more! Yes, my end of breathShall hear away my soul in being true!He is still here, not outside with the world,Here, here, I have him in his rightful place!'T is now, when I am most upon the move,I feel for what I verily find—againThe face, again the eyes, again, through all,The heart and its immeasurable loveOf my one friend, my only, all my own,Who put his breast between the spears and me.Ever with Caponsacchi! OtherwiseHere alone would be failure, loss to me—How much more loss to him, with life debarredFrom giving life, love locked from love's display,The day-star stopped its task that makes night morn!O lover of my life, O soldier-saint,No work begun shall ever pause for death!Love will be helpful to me more and moreI' the coming course, the new path I must tread—My weak hand in thy strong hand, strong for that!Tell him that if I seem without him now,That 's the world's insight! Oh, he understands!He is at Civita—do I once doubtThe world again is holding us apart?He had been here, displayed in my behalfThe broad brow that reverberates the truth,And flashed the word God gave him, back to man!I know where the free soul is flown! My fateWill have been hard for even him to bear:Let it confirm him in the trust of God,Showing how holily he dared the deed!And, for the rest,—say, from the deed, no touchOf harm came, but all good, all happiness,Not one faint fleck of failure! Why explain?What I see, oh, he sees and how much more!Tell him,—I know not wherefore the true wordShould fade and fall unuttered at the last—It was the name of him I sprang to meetWhen came the knock, the summons and the end."My great heart, my strong hand are back again!"I would have sprung to these, beckoning acrossMurder and hell gigantic and distinctO' the threshold, posted to exclude me heaven:He is ordained to call and I to come!Do not the dead wear flowers when dressed for God?Say,—I am all in flowers from head to foot!Say,—not one flower of all he said and did,Might seem to flit unnoticed, fade unknown,But dropped a seed, has grown a balsam-treeWhereof the blossoming perfumes the placeAt this supreme of moments! He is a priest;He cannot marry therefore, which is right:I think he would not marry if he could.Marriage on earth seems such a counterfeit,Mere imitation of the inimitable:In heaven we have the real and true and sure.'T is there they neither marry nor are givenIn marriage but are as the angels: right,Oh how right that is, how like Jesus ChristTo say that! Marriage-making for the earth,With gold so much,—birth, power, repute so much,Or beauty, youth so much, in lack of these!Be as the angels rather, who, apart,Know themselves into one, are found at lengthMarried, but marry never, no, nor giveIn marriage; they are man and wife at onceWhen the true time is: here we have to waitNot so long neither! Could we by a wishHave what we will and get the future now,Would we wish aught done undone in the past?So, let him wait God's instant men call years;Meantime hold hard by truth and his great soul,Do out the duty! Through such souls aloneGod stooping shows sufficient of his lightFor us i' the dark to rise by. And I rise.
He replied—The first word I heard ever from his lips,All himself in it,—an eternityOf speech, to match the immeasurable depthO' the soul that then broke silence—"I am yours."
He replied—
The first word I heard ever from his lips,
All himself in it,—an eternity
Of speech, to match the immeasurable depth
O' the soul that then broke silence—"I am yours."
So did the star rise, soon to lead my step,Lead on, nor pause before it should stand stillAbove the House o' the Babe,—my babe to be,That knew me first and thus made me know him,That had his right of life and claim on mine,And would not let me die till he was born,But pricked me at the heart to save us both,Saying, "Have you the will? Leave God the way!"And the way was Caponsacchi—"mine," thank God!He was mine, he is mine, he will be mine.
So did the star rise, soon to lead my step,
Lead on, nor pause before it should stand still
Above the House o' the Babe,—my babe to be,
That knew me first and thus made me know him,
That had his right of life and claim on mine,
And would not let me die till he was born,
But pricked me at the heart to save us both,
Saying, "Have you the will? Leave God the way!"
And the way was Caponsacchi—"mine," thank God!
He was mine, he is mine, he will be mine.
No pause i' the leading and the light! I know,Next night there was a cloud came, and not he:But I prayed through the darkness till it brokeAnd let him shine. The second night, he came.
No pause i' the leading and the light! I know,
Next night there was a cloud came, and not he:
But I prayed through the darkness till it broke
And let him shine. The second night, he came.
"The plan is rash; the project desperate:In such a flight needs must I risk your life,Give food for falsehood, folly or mistake,Ground for your husband's rancor and revenge"—So he began again, with the same face.I felt that, the same loyalty—one starTurning now red that was so white before—One service apprehended newly: justA word of mine and there the white was back!
"The plan is rash; the project desperate:
In such a flight needs must I risk your life,
Give food for falsehood, folly or mistake,
Ground for your husband's rancor and revenge"—
So he began again, with the same face.
I felt that, the same loyalty—one star
Turning now red that was so white before—
One service apprehended newly: just
A word of mine and there the white was back!
"No, friend, for you will take me! 'T is yourselfRisk all, not I,—who let you, for I trustIn the compensating great God: enough!I know you: when is it that you will come?"
"No, friend, for you will take me! 'T is yourself
Risk all, not I,—who let you, for I trust
In the compensating great God: enough!
I know you: when is it that you will come?"
"To-morrow at the day's dawn." Then I heardWhat I should do: how to prepare for flightAnd where to fly.
"To-morrow at the day's dawn." Then I heard
What I should do: how to prepare for flight
And where to fly.
That night my husband bade"—You, whom I loathe, beware you break my sleepThis whole night! Couch beside me like the corpseI would you were!" The rest you know, I think—How I found Caponsacchi and escaped.
That night my husband bade
"—You, whom I loathe, beware you break my sleep
This whole night! Couch beside me like the corpse
I would you were!" The rest you know, I think—
How I found Caponsacchi and escaped.
And this man, men call sinner? Jesus Christ!Of whom men said, with mouths Thyself mad'st once,"He hath a devil"—say he was Thy saint,My Caponsacchi! Shield and show—unshroudIn Thine own time the glory of the soulIf aught obscure,—if ink-spot, from vile pensScribbling a charge against him—(I was gladThen, for the first time, that I could not write)—Flirted his way, have flecked the blaze!
And this man, men call sinner? Jesus Christ!
Of whom men said, with mouths Thyself mad'st once,
"He hath a devil"—say he was Thy saint,
My Caponsacchi! Shield and show—unshroud
In Thine own time the glory of the soul
If aught obscure,—if ink-spot, from vile pens
Scribbling a charge against him—(I was glad
Then, for the first time, that I could not write)—
Flirted his way, have flecked the blaze!
For me,'T is otherwise: let men take, sift my thoughts—Thoughts I throw like the flax for sun to bleach!I did pray, do pray, in the prayer shall die,"Oh, to have Caponsacchi for my guide!"Ever the face upturned to mine, the handHolding my hand across the world,—a senseThat reads, as only such can read, the markGod sets on woman, signifying soShe should—shall peradventure—be divine;Yet 'ware, the whole, how weakness mars the printAnd makes confusion, leaves the thing men see,—Not this man sees,—who from his soul, rewritesThe obliterated charter,—love and strengthMending what 's marred. "So kneels a votarist,Weeds some poor waste traditionary plot,Where shrine once was, where temple yet may be,Purging the place but worshipping the while,By faith and not by sight, sight clearest so,—Such way the saints work,"—says Don Celestine.But I, not privileged to see a saintOf old when such walked earth with crown and palm,If I call "saint" what saints call something else—The saints must bear with me, impute the faultTo a soul i' the bud, so starved by ignorance,Stinted of warmth, it will not blow this yearNor recognize the orb which Spring-flowers know.But if meanwhile some insect with a heartWorth floods of lazy music, spendthrift joy—Some fire-fly renounced Spring for my dwarfed cup,Crept close to me, brought lustre for the dark,Comfort against the cold,—what though excessOf comfort should miscall the creature—sun?What did the sun to hinder while harsh handsPetal by petal, crude and colorless,Tore me? This one heart gave me all the Spring!
For me,
'T is otherwise: let men take, sift my thoughts
—Thoughts I throw like the flax for sun to bleach!
I did pray, do pray, in the prayer shall die,
"Oh, to have Caponsacchi for my guide!"
Ever the face upturned to mine, the hand
Holding my hand across the world,—a sense
That reads, as only such can read, the mark
God sets on woman, signifying so
She should—shall peradventure—be divine;
Yet 'ware, the whole, how weakness mars the print
And makes confusion, leaves the thing men see,
—Not this man sees,—who from his soul, rewrites
The obliterated charter,—love and strength
Mending what 's marred. "So kneels a votarist,
Weeds some poor waste traditionary plot,
Where shrine once was, where temple yet may be,
Purging the place but worshipping the while,
By faith and not by sight, sight clearest so,—
Such way the saints work,"—says Don Celestine.
But I, not privileged to see a saint
Of old when such walked earth with crown and palm,
If I call "saint" what saints call something else—
The saints must bear with me, impute the fault
To a soul i' the bud, so starved by ignorance,
Stinted of warmth, it will not blow this year
Nor recognize the orb which Spring-flowers know.
But if meanwhile some insect with a heart
Worth floods of lazy music, spendthrift joy—
Some fire-fly renounced Spring for my dwarfed cup,
Crept close to me, brought lustre for the dark,
Comfort against the cold,—what though excess
Of comfort should miscall the creature—sun?
What did the sun to hinder while harsh hands
Petal by petal, crude and colorless,
Tore me? This one heart gave me all the Spring!
Is all told? There 's the journey: and where 's timeTo tell you how that heart burst out in shine?Yet certain points do press on me too hard.Each place must have a name, though I forget:How strange it was—there where the plain beginsAnd the small river mitigates its flow—When eve was fading fast, and my soul sank,And he divined what surge of bitterness,In overtaking me, would float me backWhence I was carried by the striding day—So,—"This gray place was famous once," said he—And he began that legend of the placeAs if in answer to the unspoken fear,And told me all about a brave man dead,Which lifted me and let my soul go on!How did he know too—at that town's approachBy the rock-side—that in coming near the signsOf life, the house-roofs and the church and tower,I saw the old boundary and wall o' the worldRise plain as ever round me, hard and cold,As if the broken circlet joined again,Tightened itself about me with no break,—As if the town would turn Arezzo's self,—The husband there,—the friends my enemies,All ranged against me, not an avenueTo try, but would be blocked and drive me backOn him,—this other, ... oh the heart in that!Did not he find, bring, put into my armsA new-born babe?—and I saw faces beamOf the young mother proud to teach me joy,And gossips round expecting my surpriseAt the sudden hole through earth that lets in heaven.I could believe himself by his strong willHad woven around me what I thought the worldWe went along in, every circumstance,Towns, flowers and faces, all things helped so well!For, through the journey, was it naturalSuch comfort should arise from first to last?As I look back, all is one milky way;Still bettered more, the more remembered, soDo new stars bud while I but search for old,And fill all gaps i' the glory, and grow him—Him I now see make the shine everywhere.Even at the last when the bewildered flesh,The cloud of weariness about my soulClogging too heavily, sucked down all sense,—Still its last voice was, "He will watch and care;Let the strength go, I am content: he stays!"I doubt not he did stay and care for all—From that sick minute when the head swam round,And the eyes looked their last and died on him,As in his arms he caught me, and, you say,Carried me in, that tragical red eve,And laid me where I next returned to lifeIn the other red of morning, two red platesThat crushed together, crushed the time between,And are since then a solid fire to me,—When in, my dreadful husband and the worldBroke,—and I saw him, master, by hell's right,And saw my angel helplessly held backBy guards that helped the malice—the lamb prone,The serpent towering and triumphant—thenCame all the strength back in a sudden swell,I did for once see right, do right, give tongueThe adequate protest: for a worm must turnIf it would have its wrong observed by God.I did spring up, attempt to thrust asideThat ice-block 'twixt the sun and me, lay lowThe neutralizer of all good and truth.If I sinned so,—never obey voice moreO' the Just and Terrible, who bids us—"Bear!"Not—"Stand by, bear to see my angels bear!"I am clear it was on impulse to serve GodNot save myself,—no—nor my child unborn!Had I else waited patiently till now?—Who saw my old kind parents, silly-soothAnd too much trustful, for their worst of faults,Cheated, browbeaten, stripped and starved, cast outInto the kennel: I remonstrated,Then sank to silence, for,—their woes at end,Themselves gone,—only I was left to plague.If only I was threatened and belied,What matter? I could bear it and did bear;It was a comfort, still one lot for all:They were not persecuted for my sakeAnd I, estranged, the single happy one.But when at last, all by myself I stoodObeying the clear voice which bade me rise,Not for my own sake but my babe unborn,And take the angel's hand was sent to help—And found the old adversary athwart the path—Not my hand simply struck from the angel's, butThe very angel's self made foul i' the faceBy the fiend who struck there,—that I would not bear,That only I resisted! So, my firstAnd last resistance was invincible.Prayers move God; threats, and nothing else, move men!I must have prayed a man as he were GodWhen I implored the Governor to rightMy parents' wrongs: the answer was a smile.The Archbishop,—did I clasp his feet enough,Hide my face hotly on them, while I toldMore than I dared make my own mother know?The profit was—compassion and a jest.This time, the foolish prayers were done with, rightUsed might, and solemnized the sport at once.All was against the combat: vantage, mine?The runaway avowed, the accomplice-wife,In company with the plan-contriving priest?Yet, shame thus rank and patent, I struck, bare,At foe from head to foot in magic mail,And off it withered, cobweb-armoryAgainst the lightning! 'T was truth singed the liesAnd saved me, not the vain sword nor weak speech!
Is all told? There 's the journey: and where 's time
To tell you how that heart burst out in shine?
Yet certain points do press on me too hard.
Each place must have a name, though I forget:
How strange it was—there where the plain begins
And the small river mitigates its flow—
When eve was fading fast, and my soul sank,
And he divined what surge of bitterness,
In overtaking me, would float me back
Whence I was carried by the striding day—
So,—"This gray place was famous once," said he—
And he began that legend of the place
As if in answer to the unspoken fear,
And told me all about a brave man dead,
Which lifted me and let my soul go on!
How did he know too—at that town's approach
By the rock-side—that in coming near the signs
Of life, the house-roofs and the church and tower,
I saw the old boundary and wall o' the world
Rise plain as ever round me, hard and cold,
As if the broken circlet joined again,
Tightened itself about me with no break,—
As if the town would turn Arezzo's self,—
The husband there,—the friends my enemies,
All ranged against me, not an avenue
To try, but would be blocked and drive me back
On him,—this other, ... oh the heart in that!
Did not he find, bring, put into my arms
A new-born babe?—and I saw faces beam
Of the young mother proud to teach me joy,
And gossips round expecting my surprise
At the sudden hole through earth that lets in heaven.
I could believe himself by his strong will
Had woven around me what I thought the world
We went along in, every circumstance,
Towns, flowers and faces, all things helped so well!
For, through the journey, was it natural
Such comfort should arise from first to last?
As I look back, all is one milky way;
Still bettered more, the more remembered, so
Do new stars bud while I but search for old,
And fill all gaps i' the glory, and grow him—
Him I now see make the shine everywhere.
Even at the last when the bewildered flesh,
The cloud of weariness about my soul
Clogging too heavily, sucked down all sense,—
Still its last voice was, "He will watch and care;
Let the strength go, I am content: he stays!"
I doubt not he did stay and care for all—
From that sick minute when the head swam round,
And the eyes looked their last and died on him,
As in his arms he caught me, and, you say,
Carried me in, that tragical red eve,
And laid me where I next returned to life
In the other red of morning, two red plates
That crushed together, crushed the time between,
And are since then a solid fire to me,—
When in, my dreadful husband and the world
Broke,—and I saw him, master, by hell's right,
And saw my angel helplessly held back
By guards that helped the malice—the lamb prone,
The serpent towering and triumphant—then
Came all the strength back in a sudden swell,
I did for once see right, do right, give tongue
The adequate protest: for a worm must turn
If it would have its wrong observed by God.
I did spring up, attempt to thrust aside
That ice-block 'twixt the sun and me, lay low
The neutralizer of all good and truth.
If I sinned so,—never obey voice more
O' the Just and Terrible, who bids us—"Bear!"
Not—"Stand by, bear to see my angels bear!"
I am clear it was on impulse to serve God
Not save myself,—no—nor my child unborn!
Had I else waited patiently till now?—
Who saw my old kind parents, silly-sooth
And too much trustful, for their worst of faults,
Cheated, browbeaten, stripped and starved, cast out
Into the kennel: I remonstrated,
Then sank to silence, for,—their woes at end,
Themselves gone,—only I was left to plague.
If only I was threatened and belied,
What matter? I could bear it and did bear;
It was a comfort, still one lot for all:
They were not persecuted for my sake
And I, estranged, the single happy one.
But when at last, all by myself I stood
Obeying the clear voice which bade me rise,
Not for my own sake but my babe unborn,
And take the angel's hand was sent to help—
And found the old adversary athwart the path—
Not my hand simply struck from the angel's, but
The very angel's self made foul i' the face
By the fiend who struck there,—that I would not bear,
That only I resisted! So, my first
And last resistance was invincible.
Prayers move God; threats, and nothing else, move men!
I must have prayed a man as he were God
When I implored the Governor to right
My parents' wrongs: the answer was a smile.
The Archbishop,—did I clasp his feet enough,
Hide my face hotly on them, while I told
More than I dared make my own mother know?
The profit was—compassion and a jest.
This time, the foolish prayers were done with, right
Used might, and solemnized the sport at once.
All was against the combat: vantage, mine?
The runaway avowed, the accomplice-wife,
In company with the plan-contriving priest?
Yet, shame thus rank and patent, I struck, bare,
At foe from head to foot in magic mail,
And off it withered, cobweb-armory
Against the lightning! 'T was truth singed the lies
And saved me, not the vain sword nor weak speech!
You see, I will not have the service fail!I say, the angel saved me: I am safe!Others may want and wish, I wish nor wantOne point o' the circle plainer, where I standTraced round about with white to front the world.What of the calumny I came across,What o' the way to the end?—the end crowns all.The judges judged aright i' the main, gave meThe uttermost of my heart's desire, a truceFrom torture and Arezzo, balm for hurt,With the quiet nuns,—God recompense the good!Who said and sang away the ugly past.And, when my final fortune was revealed,What safety, while, amid my parents' arms,My babe was given me! Yes, he saved my babe:It would not have peeped forth, the bird-like thing,Through that Arezzo noise and trouble: backHad it returned nor ever let me see!But the sweet peace cured all, and let me liveAnd give my bird the life among the leavesGod meant him! Weeks and months of quietude,I could lie in such peace and learn so much—Begin the task, I see how needful now,Of understanding somewhat of my past,—Know life a little, I should leave so soon.Therefore, because this man restored my soul,All has been right; I have gained my gain, enjoyedAs well as suffered,—nay, got foretaste tooOf better life beginning where this ends—All through the breathing-while allowed me thus,Which let good premonitions reach my soulUnthwarted, and benignant influence flowAnd interpenetrate and change my heart,Uncrossed by what was wicked,—nay, unkind.For, as the weakness of my time drew nigh,Nobody did me one disservice more,Spoke coldly or looked strangely, broke the loveI lay in the arms of, till my boy was born,Born all in love, with naught to spoil the blissA whole long fortnight: in a life like mineA fortnight filled with bliss is long and much.All women are not mothers of a boy,Though they live twice the length of my whole life,And, as they fancy, happily all the same.There I lay, then, all my great fortnight long,As if it would continue, broaden outHappily more and more, and lead to heaven:Christmas before me,—was not that a chance?I never realized God's birth before—How he grew likest God in being born.This time I felt like Mary, had my babeLying a little on my breast like hers.So all went on till, just four days ago—The night and the tap.
You see, I will not have the service fail!
I say, the angel saved me: I am safe!
Others may want and wish, I wish nor want
One point o' the circle plainer, where I stand
Traced round about with white to front the world.
What of the calumny I came across,
What o' the way to the end?—the end crowns all.
The judges judged aright i' the main, gave me
The uttermost of my heart's desire, a truce
From torture and Arezzo, balm for hurt,
With the quiet nuns,—God recompense the good!
Who said and sang away the ugly past.
And, when my final fortune was revealed,
What safety, while, amid my parents' arms,
My babe was given me! Yes, he saved my babe:
It would not have peeped forth, the bird-like thing,
Through that Arezzo noise and trouble: back
Had it returned nor ever let me see!
But the sweet peace cured all, and let me live
And give my bird the life among the leaves
God meant him! Weeks and months of quietude,
I could lie in such peace and learn so much—
Begin the task, I see how needful now,
Of understanding somewhat of my past,—
Know life a little, I should leave so soon.
Therefore, because this man restored my soul,
All has been right; I have gained my gain, enjoyed
As well as suffered,—nay, got foretaste too
Of better life beginning where this ends—
All through the breathing-while allowed me thus,
Which let good premonitions reach my soul
Unthwarted, and benignant influence flow
And interpenetrate and change my heart,
Uncrossed by what was wicked,—nay, unkind.
For, as the weakness of my time drew nigh,
Nobody did me one disservice more,
Spoke coldly or looked strangely, broke the love
I lay in the arms of, till my boy was born,
Born all in love, with naught to spoil the bliss
A whole long fortnight: in a life like mine
A fortnight filled with bliss is long and much.
All women are not mothers of a boy,
Though they live twice the length of my whole life,
And, as they fancy, happily all the same.
There I lay, then, all my great fortnight long,
As if it would continue, broaden out
Happily more and more, and lead to heaven:
Christmas before me,—was not that a chance?
I never realized God's birth before—
How he grew likest God in being born.
This time I felt like Mary, had my babe
Lying a little on my breast like hers.
So all went on till, just four days ago—
The night and the tap.
Oh, it shall be successTo the whole of our poor family! My friends... Nay, father and mother,—give me back my word!They have been rudely stripped of life, disgracedLike children who must needs go clothed too fine,Carry the garb of Carnival in Lent.If they too much affected frippery,They have been punished and submit themselves,Say no word: all is over, they see GodWho will not be extreme to mark their faultOr he had granted respite: they are safe.
Oh, it shall be success
To the whole of our poor family! My friends
... Nay, father and mother,—give me back my word!
They have been rudely stripped of life, disgraced
Like children who must needs go clothed too fine,
Carry the garb of Carnival in Lent.
If they too much affected frippery,
They have been punished and submit themselves,
Say no word: all is over, they see God
Who will not be extreme to mark their fault
Or he had granted respite: they are safe.
For that most woeful man my husband once,Who, needing respite, still draws vital breath,I—pardon him? So far as lies in me,I give him for his good the life he takes,Praying the world will therefore acquiesce.Let him make God amends,—none, none to meWho thank him rather that, whereas strange fateMockingly styled him husband and me wife,Himself this way at least pronounced divorce,Blotted the marriage-bond: this blood of mineFlies forth exultingly at any door,Washes the parchment white, and thanks the blow.We shall not meet in this world nor the next,But where will God be absent? In his faceIs light, but in his shadow healing too:Let Guido touch the shadow and be healed!And as my presence was importunate,—My earthly good, temptation and a snare,—Nothing about me but drew somehow downHis hate upon me,—somewhat so excusedTherefore, since hate was thus the truth of him,—May my evanishment forevermoreHelp further to relieve the heart that castSuch object of its natural loathing forth!So he was made; he nowise made himself:I could not love him, but his mother did.His soul has never lain beside my soul;But for the unresisting body,—thanks!He burned that garment spotted by the flesh.Whatever he touched is rightly ruined: plagueIt caught, and disinfection it had cravedStill but for Guido; I am saved through himSo as by fire; to him—thanks and farewell!
For that most woeful man my husband once,
Who, needing respite, still draws vital breath,
I—pardon him? So far as lies in me,
I give him for his good the life he takes,
Praying the world will therefore acquiesce.
Let him make God amends,—none, none to me
Who thank him rather that, whereas strange fate
Mockingly styled him husband and me wife,
Himself this way at least pronounced divorce,
Blotted the marriage-bond: this blood of mine
Flies forth exultingly at any door,
Washes the parchment white, and thanks the blow.
We shall not meet in this world nor the next,
But where will God be absent? In his face
Is light, but in his shadow healing too:
Let Guido touch the shadow and be healed!
And as my presence was importunate,—
My earthly good, temptation and a snare,—
Nothing about me but drew somehow down
His hate upon me,—somewhat so excused
Therefore, since hate was thus the truth of him,—
May my evanishment forevermore
Help further to relieve the heart that cast
Such object of its natural loathing forth!
So he was made; he nowise made himself:
I could not love him, but his mother did.
His soul has never lain beside my soul;
But for the unresisting body,—thanks!
He burned that garment spotted by the flesh.
Whatever he touched is rightly ruined: plague
It caught, and disinfection it had craved
Still but for Guido; I am saved through him
So as by fire; to him—thanks and farewell!
Even for my babe, my boy, there 's safety thence—From the sudden death of me, I mean: we poorWeak souls, how we endeavor to be strong!I was already using up my life,—This portion, now, should do him such a good,This other go to keep off such an ill!The great life; see, a breath and it is gone!So is detached, so left all by itselfThe little life, the fact which means so much.Shall not God stoop the kindlier to his work,His marvel of creation, foot would crush,Now that the hand he trusted to receiveAnd hold it, lets the treasure fall perforce?The better; he shall have in orphanageHis own way all the clearlier: if my babeOutlived the hour—and he has lived two weeks—It is through God who knows I am not by.Who is it makes the soft gold hair turn black,And sets the tongue, might lie so long at rest,Trying to talk? Let us leave God alone!Why should I doubt he will explain in timeWhat I feel now, but fail to find the words?My babe nor was, nor is, nor yet shall beCount Guido Franceschini's child at all—Only his mother's, born of love not hate!So shall I have my rights in after-time.It seems absurd, impossible to-day;So seems so much else, not explained but known!
Even for my babe, my boy, there 's safety thence—
From the sudden death of me, I mean: we poor
Weak souls, how we endeavor to be strong!
I was already using up my life,—
This portion, now, should do him such a good,
This other go to keep off such an ill!
The great life; see, a breath and it is gone!
So is detached, so left all by itself
The little life, the fact which means so much.
Shall not God stoop the kindlier to his work,
His marvel of creation, foot would crush,
Now that the hand he trusted to receive
And hold it, lets the treasure fall perforce?
The better; he shall have in orphanage
His own way all the clearlier: if my babe
Outlived the hour—and he has lived two weeks—
It is through God who knows I am not by.
Who is it makes the soft gold hair turn black,
And sets the tongue, might lie so long at rest,
Trying to talk? Let us leave God alone!
Why should I doubt he will explain in time
What I feel now, but fail to find the words?
My babe nor was, nor is, nor yet shall be
Count Guido Franceschini's child at all—
Only his mother's, born of love not hate!
So shall I have my rights in after-time.
It seems absurd, impossible to-day;
So seems so much else, not explained but known!
Ah! Friends, I thank and bless you every one!No more now: I withdraw from earth and manTo my own soul, compose myself for God.
Ah! Friends, I thank and bless you every one!
No more now: I withdraw from earth and man
To my own soul, compose myself for God.
Well, and there is more! Yes, my end of breathShall hear away my soul in being true!He is still here, not outside with the world,Here, here, I have him in his rightful place!'T is now, when I am most upon the move,I feel for what I verily find—againThe face, again the eyes, again, through all,The heart and its immeasurable loveOf my one friend, my only, all my own,Who put his breast between the spears and me.Ever with Caponsacchi! OtherwiseHere alone would be failure, loss to me—How much more loss to him, with life debarredFrom giving life, love locked from love's display,The day-star stopped its task that makes night morn!O lover of my life, O soldier-saint,No work begun shall ever pause for death!Love will be helpful to me more and moreI' the coming course, the new path I must tread—My weak hand in thy strong hand, strong for that!Tell him that if I seem without him now,That 's the world's insight! Oh, he understands!He is at Civita—do I once doubtThe world again is holding us apart?He had been here, displayed in my behalfThe broad brow that reverberates the truth,And flashed the word God gave him, back to man!I know where the free soul is flown! My fateWill have been hard for even him to bear:Let it confirm him in the trust of God,Showing how holily he dared the deed!And, for the rest,—say, from the deed, no touchOf harm came, but all good, all happiness,Not one faint fleck of failure! Why explain?What I see, oh, he sees and how much more!Tell him,—I know not wherefore the true wordShould fade and fall unuttered at the last—It was the name of him I sprang to meetWhen came the knock, the summons and the end."My great heart, my strong hand are back again!"I would have sprung to these, beckoning acrossMurder and hell gigantic and distinctO' the threshold, posted to exclude me heaven:He is ordained to call and I to come!Do not the dead wear flowers when dressed for God?Say,—I am all in flowers from head to foot!Say,—not one flower of all he said and did,Might seem to flit unnoticed, fade unknown,But dropped a seed, has grown a balsam-treeWhereof the blossoming perfumes the placeAt this supreme of moments! He is a priest;He cannot marry therefore, which is right:I think he would not marry if he could.Marriage on earth seems such a counterfeit,Mere imitation of the inimitable:In heaven we have the real and true and sure.'T is there they neither marry nor are givenIn marriage but are as the angels: right,Oh how right that is, how like Jesus ChristTo say that! Marriage-making for the earth,With gold so much,—birth, power, repute so much,Or beauty, youth so much, in lack of these!Be as the angels rather, who, apart,Know themselves into one, are found at lengthMarried, but marry never, no, nor giveIn marriage; they are man and wife at onceWhen the true time is: here we have to waitNot so long neither! Could we by a wishHave what we will and get the future now,Would we wish aught done undone in the past?So, let him wait God's instant men call years;Meantime hold hard by truth and his great soul,Do out the duty! Through such souls aloneGod stooping shows sufficient of his lightFor us i' the dark to rise by. And I rise.
Well, and there is more! Yes, my end of breath
Shall hear away my soul in being true!
He is still here, not outside with the world,
Here, here, I have him in his rightful place!
'T is now, when I am most upon the move,
I feel for what I verily find—again
The face, again the eyes, again, through all,
The heart and its immeasurable love
Of my one friend, my only, all my own,
Who put his breast between the spears and me.
Ever with Caponsacchi! Otherwise
Here alone would be failure, loss to me—
How much more loss to him, with life debarred
From giving life, love locked from love's display,
The day-star stopped its task that makes night morn!
O lover of my life, O soldier-saint,
No work begun shall ever pause for death!
Love will be helpful to me more and more
I' the coming course, the new path I must tread—
My weak hand in thy strong hand, strong for that!
Tell him that if I seem without him now,
That 's the world's insight! Oh, he understands!
He is at Civita—do I once doubt
The world again is holding us apart?
He had been here, displayed in my behalf
The broad brow that reverberates the truth,
And flashed the word God gave him, back to man!
I know where the free soul is flown! My fate
Will have been hard for even him to bear:
Let it confirm him in the trust of God,
Showing how holily he dared the deed!
And, for the rest,—say, from the deed, no touch
Of harm came, but all good, all happiness,
Not one faint fleck of failure! Why explain?
What I see, oh, he sees and how much more!
Tell him,—I know not wherefore the true word
Should fade and fall unuttered at the last—
It was the name of him I sprang to meet
When came the knock, the summons and the end.
"My great heart, my strong hand are back again!"
I would have sprung to these, beckoning across
Murder and hell gigantic and distinct
O' the threshold, posted to exclude me heaven:
He is ordained to call and I to come!
Do not the dead wear flowers when dressed for God?
Say,—I am all in flowers from head to foot!
Say,—not one flower of all he said and did,
Might seem to flit unnoticed, fade unknown,
But dropped a seed, has grown a balsam-tree
Whereof the blossoming perfumes the place
At this supreme of moments! He is a priest;
He cannot marry therefore, which is right:
I think he would not marry if he could.
Marriage on earth seems such a counterfeit,
Mere imitation of the inimitable:
In heaven we have the real and true and sure.
'T is there they neither marry nor are given
In marriage but are as the angels: right,
Oh how right that is, how like Jesus Christ
To say that! Marriage-making for the earth,
With gold so much,—birth, power, repute so much,
Or beauty, youth so much, in lack of these!
Be as the angels rather, who, apart,
Know themselves into one, are found at length
Married, but marry never, no, nor give
In marriage; they are man and wife at once
When the true time is: here we have to wait
Not so long neither! Could we by a wish
Have what we will and get the future now,
Would we wish aught done undone in the past?
So, let him wait God's instant men call years;
Meantime hold hard by truth and his great soul,
Do out the duty! Through such souls alone
God stooping shows sufficient of his light
For us i' the dark to rise by. And I rise.