Freston
129
While o'er her heart are pressed her trembling hands;
Her heart, now quivering, thrilling, pulsing wild,
This moment—tameless as a savage child!
Her heart, now quivering, thrilling, pulsing wild,
This moment—tameless as a savage child!
A woman,—a mere woman! in that hall
None weaker, owning thus Love's mighty thrall.
For, as her dark eyes wander o'er the throng,
They meet the eyes of Raphael, who for long
Has gazed with rapt, strange wonder, on her face,—
As though he strove, but all in vain, to trace
The sweet, familiar look that stirred his heart,—
Causing dim memories from their graves to start
In shapeless forms, that mocked him as they came,
Whisp'ring of years long past,—and one dear name.
They brought fair visions of his childhood day,
And Fornarina,—his young friend in play.
None weaker, owning thus Love's mighty thrall.
For, as her dark eyes wander o'er the throng,
They meet the eyes of Raphael, who for long
Has gazed with rapt, strange wonder, on her face,—
As though he strove, but all in vain, to trace
The sweet, familiar look that stirred his heart,—
Causing dim memories from their graves to start
In shapeless forms, that mocked him as they came,
Whisp'ring of years long past,—and one dear name.
They brought fair visions of his childhood day,
And Fornarina,—his young friend in play.
Now, as she meets those deep eyes' earnest look,—
That, in a sudden fear, she scarce can brook,—
Back o'er her heart receding love-waves roll,
And sweep away the poet's self-control;
Her royal robes of state have been flung down,—
Down at his feet, her sceptre and her crown
That, in a sudden fear, she scarce can brook,—
Back o'er her heart receding love-waves roll,
And sweep away the poet's self-control;
Her royal robes of state have been flung down,—
Down at his feet, her sceptre and her crown
