We neither spoke;
But something went that thrilled me through and through.
And that quick clash of souls
Had struck a spark that set my soul on fire.

And I was happy, oh, so happy then!
It seemed as if this earth could never add
One little drop more to the joy I owned,
For all that passionate torrent pent within
My heart had found its utterance and response.

He was Venetian, and that radiant hair
We black-haired girls so covet haloed round
His sunny northern face and soft blue eyes.
I know not why he loved me--me, so black,
With this black skin that every Roman has,
With this black hair, black eyes, that I so hate.

Why loved he not Beata? she is fair,
But yet he often swore to me Beata's body
Was not worth one half my finger,
And then kissed me full upon the mouth as if to seal his oath;
Ah! glorious seal--I feel those lips there now!
And on my forehead, too, one kiss still glows
Like a great star.
Ah! well! those days are gone. No! no!
They are not gone; I love him madly now.
I love him madly as I loved him then.

Ah, God! how blissfully those days went by!
You could not fill a golden cup more full
Of rubied wine than was my heart with joy.
Long mornings in his studio, there I sat
And heard his voice; or, when he did not speak,
I felt his presence like a rich perfume,
Fill all my thoughts.
I was his model. Hours and hours I posed
For him to paint his Cleopatra, fierce,
With her squared brows, and full Egyptian lips;
A great gold serpent on her rounded arm,
And a broad band of gold around her head.

At last the autumn came, the stricken, bleeding autumn.
Something weighed upon his mind I could not understand.
I knew all was not right, yet dared not ask.
At last few words made all things plain;
"Love, I must go to Venice." "Must?" "Yes, must."
"Then I go, too." "No, no; ah, Nina, no.
Four weeks pass swiftly; one short month, and then
I shall return to Florence, and to you."

Vain were my words. He went, alas! he went
With all the sunshine, and I wore alone
The weary weeks out of that hateful month.
Another month I waited, nervous, fierce
With love's impatience. When that month was gone
My heart was all afire; I could not stay.
Consumed with jeal