So much love
in her heart, so much lead in his. Make what you can of it." [Cook
and Wedderburn.]
[65] The poem may be crudely paraphrased as follows:--
"Quick, Anna, quick! to the mirror! It is late,
And I'm to dance at the ambassador's ...
I'm going to the ball ...
"They're faded, see,
These ribbons--they belong to yesterday.
Heavens, how all things pass! Now gracefully hang
The blue tassels from the net that holds my hair.
"Higher!--no, lower!--you get nothing right!...
Now let this sapphire sparkle on my brow.
You're pricking me, you careless
thing! That's good!
I love you, Anna dear. How fair I am....
"I hope he'll be there, too--the one I've tried
To forget! no use! (Anna, my gown!) he too ...
(O fie, you wicked girl! my necklace, _this?_
These golden beads the Holy Father blessed?)
"He'll be there--Heavens! suppose he takes my hand
--I scarce can draw my breath for thinking of it!
And I confess to Father Anselmo
To-morrow--how can I ever tell him _all_?...
One last glance at the mirror.
O, I'm sure That they'll adore me at the ball to-night."
Before the fire she stands admiringly.
O God! a spark has leapt into her gown.
Fire, fire!--O run!--Lost thus when mad with hope?
What, die? and she so fair? The hideous flames
Rage greedily about her arms and breast,
Envelop her, and leaping ever higher,
Swallow up all her beauty, pitiless--
Her eighteen years, alas! and her sweet dream.
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