Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/237

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The Studio of the SPAGNOLETTO. RIBERA at work before his canvas. MARIA seated some little distance behind him ; a piece of embroidery is in her hands, but she glances up from it incessantly toward her father with impatient movements.

Father !

(RIBERA, absorbed in his work, makes no reply ; she puts by her embroidery, goes toward him and kisses him gently. He starts, looks up at her, and returns her caress.)

My child !

Already you forget,

Oh, heedless father ! Did you not promise me

To lay aside your brush to-day at noon,

And tell me the great secret ?

Ah, t is true,

I am to blame. But it is morning yet ;

My child, wait still a little.

’T is morning yet!

Nay, it was noon one mortal hour ago.