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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - Giacinta
Work rating: Low

Giacinta sat upon the garden wall
 Among the autumn lilies, and let fall
 Their crimson petals on her lover`s head,
 And laughed because her little hands were red.
 She was the fairest child of Italy,
 And it was well the lilies thus should die.

 But Giulio shuddered when she made him kiss
 The stains away in her pride`s wantonness
 And held them up between him and the sun
 That he might see the red blood flame and run
 In the long finger--clefts from root to tip,
 And still she pressed them closer to his lip,
 And still she laughed. But Giulio looked at her
 And it was half in love and half in fear.

 And, when she saw him tremble, childishly
 She laid both hands in his, and with a sigh
 Told him to pity them. And he in vain
 Hid them in his and would have hid his pain,
 And tried to speak but could not for the weight
 Upon his breast. And so the lovers sat
 In a hard silence, while Giacinta`s laugh
 Rang in his ears like the discordant half
 Of some fair carol from a tavern flung,
 She watching him above, the flowers among,
 First with her smile and then with a hurt pride
 Kindling to wrath. And ``Fool`` at last she cried,
 ``You think because this hand of mine is white
 And smooth to touch and wise in love`s delight
 It had not dared to dabble in such red,
 The blood--of these dead flowers--for dead is dead;
 And you sit dumb and tremble and turn pale
 Because I laugh to see the lilies fall.
 Why not laugh with me, since you have the heart
 To say you love me in my tragic part?
 Think you that blood can make a hand less white,
 Or all the ink of heaven blot out to--night
 The innocent stars, or kisses steal away
 The sweetness of red lips, or memory
 Drive laughter from the world? The moon grows wan
 And wastes and fades and shrivels to a span,
 Yet men watch on beyond the hills at even,
 And lo there is a new moon in the heaven!
 Look in my eyes. Are they less pure and keen
 For all the passion which their depths have seen?
 Is there a stain upon my brows? My cheek
 Is it less fair for what it dares not speak?
 Oh, Simon`s blood was not so red a thing
 But it has left my face its colouring.
 Or think you drops from any vein of his
 Could make my fingers blush as deep as this?``

 And Giulio`s courage sickened when he heard
 Giacinta suddenly speak out this word.
 She was the fairest child of Italy,
 But Giulio thought it had been well to die.

 ``yet, had it left me pale,`` she said, ``I know
 It had been all as one to Giulio
 To love a pale face. You will love me yet
 Though I have told you how my hands are wet,
 And when I hold them out to you to kiss
 Your lips will burn to drink away the lees.
 Oh, lovers, lovers! Wherefore will you preach,
 When women laugh at what you dare to teach
 Of truth and honour? Is there one of you,
 One honourable friend, one bosom true,
 That will not sell his virtue for a kiss
 Though the mouth that gave it were a nest of lies,
 And will not soothe his soul with the deceit
 Which swears a rose is not a whit less sweet
 Because an angry bee was in its cell
 An hour ago?--Oh, lovers reason well!
 So take the flower and deign forget the bee.
 But Giulio, do not bid me stop and see
 How beautiful a thing your virtue is,
 And do not cry to the unheeding skies
 `Did I not love her?` See, I hate your love
     More than I hate yourself.``  And Giulio strove
 With his weak heart and could not bear the pain.
 And so he took Giacinta`s hand again,
 Without more word. But she in softened mood
 Looked on the boy her beauty had subdued,
 And said ``Poor Giulio! I have never shown
 Much hate to you, and this you needs must own,
 Only beware of loving me. `Tis strange
 That men are wise, yet cannot take the range
 Of a silly woman`s mind, but still devise
 Of their fool`s love, as if it were the prize
 For which a woman might forget the cost
 Of her undoing and a world well lost,
 And cannot see that love is only this,
 A pretty word to whisper in a kiss,
 As when one says, `God bless you` with `Good--night.`
 But Giulio, who would ever suffer it
 A man should always have the name of God
     Upon his lips?``  Her lover only trod
 The lilies with his heel. At last he sighed,
 ``And Simon loved you, and for this he died?``

 They sat till dusk upon the garden wall,
 And she began to sing a madrigal
 About the falling leaves and quite forgot
 To answer him. But Giulio heeded not
 Because he held her hand. He could not flee.
 She was the fairest child of Italy.
Source
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