I was as one afloat
in a whirlpool, now carried near to a straw and anon swept away as I
clutched at it.
The eddy brought me round again to the window that was no window, the
rumble of wheels, the plodding of a horse's hoofs. Beyond the low
arch--or was it a pent?--shone a star or two, and against their pale
radiance a shadow loomed--the shadow of the Princess, still seated,
still patient, still with her hands in her lap. The rumble of the
wheels, the slow rocking of my bed beneath me, fitted themselves to
the intermittent flash of the stars, and beat out a rhythm in my
memory--a rhythm, and by degrees the words to fit it--
"Tanto ch'io vidi delle cose belle
Che porta il ciel, per un pertugio tondo,
E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle."
_A riveder le stelle_--I closed my eyes, opened them again, and lo!
the stars were gone. In their place shone pale dawn, touching the
grey-white arch of a tilt-waggon, on the floor of which I lay in a
deep litter of straw. But still by the tilt, between me and the
dawn, rested my love, and drowsed, still patient, her hands in her
lap.
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