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Her loveliness beckoned, the languorous pose
that shed its solar radiance across the floor;
yet, from a distance that began to close,
the converse to the parting evermore
it must entail - but fate's blind lottery
purporting providence a phantom rose,
and claimed success: 'Now go, and not to worry!'-
I hushed the foolish notion, I suppose:
for as I loomed her dove's head to espy,
and sought her face, that statuesque repose
quite granted me the glimpse that standing by
her mother noticed calmly, as soon chose
never to look at me, as I passed by,
the glory that was Rome in her eye rose. |
