Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/287

Rh Good ! she hath found rest ; Poor child, she sadly lacked it. She had known Twixt dawn and dawn no respite from emotion; Her chill hand fluttered like a bird in mine; Her soft brow burned my lips. Could that boy read The tokens of an overwearied spirit, Strained past endurance, he had spared her still, At any cost of silence. What is such love To mine, that would outrival Roman heroes &quot;Watch mine arm crisp and shrivel in quick flame, Or set a lynx to gnaw my heart away, To save her from a needle-prick of pain, Ay, or to please her ? At their worth she rates Her wooers light as all-embracing air Or universal sunshine. Luca, go And tell Fiametta rather, bid the lass Hither herself. [Exit LUCA.

He comes to pay me homage, As would his royal father, if he pleased To visit Naples ; yet she too shall see him. She is part of all I think, of all I am ; She is myself, no less than yon bright dream Fixed in immortal beauty on the canvas.

My lord, you called me?