Both with sweet mystery well-nigh overrun. 
Anon, Sir Lancelot, with gentle start,
Put by the ripples of her golden hair,
Gazing upon her with his lips apart. 
He marvelled human thing could be so fair;
Essayed to speak; but in the very deed,
His words expired of self-betrayed despair. 
Little she helped him, at his direst need,
Roving her eyes o’er hill, and wood, and sky,
Peering intently at the meanest weed;
Ay, doing aught but look in Lancelot’s eye. 
Then, with the small pique of her velvet shoe,
Uprooted she each herb that blossomed nigh;
Or strange wild figures in the dust she drew;
Until she felt Sir Lancelot’s arm around
Her waist, upon her cheek his breath like dew. 
While through his fingers timidly he wound
Her shining locks; and, haply, when he brushed
Her ivory skin, Guenevra nearly swound: 
For where he touched, the quivering surface blushed,
Firing her blood with most contagious heat,
Till brow, cheek, neck, and bosom, all were flushed. 
Each heart was listening to the other beat. 
As twin-born lilies on one golden stalk,
Drooping with Summer, in warm languor meet,
So met their faces.  Down the forest walk
Sir Lancelot looked—­he looked, east, west, north, south—­
No soul was nigh, his dearest wish to balk: 
She smiled; he kissed her full upon the mouth.”
[Kisses FRANCESCA.]
I’ll read no more! [Starts up, dashing down the book.

FRANCESCA.  Paolo!

PAOLO.  I am mad! 
The torture of unnumbered hours is o’er,
The straining cord has broken, and my heart
Riots in free delirium!  O, Heaven! 
I struggled with it, but it mastered me! 
I fought against it, but it beat me down! 
I prayed, I wept, but Heaven was deaf to me;
And every tear rolled backward on my heart,
To blight and poison!

  FRANCESCA.  And dost thou regret?

PAOLO.  The love?  No, no!  I’d dare it all again,
Its direst agonies and meanest fears,
For that one kiss.  Away with fond remorse! 
Here, on the brink of ruin, we two stand;
Lock hands with me, and brave the fearful plunge! 
Thou canst not name a terror so profound
That I will look or falter from.  Be bold! 
I know thy love—­I knew it long ago—­
Trembled and fled from it.  But now I clasp
The peril to my breast, and ask of thee
A kindred desperation.

FRANCESCA. [Throwing herself into his arms.] Take me all,
Body and soul!  The women of our clime
Do never give away but half a heart: 
I have not part to give, part to withhold,
In selfish safety.  When I saw thee first,
Riding alone amid a thousand men,
Sole in the lustre of thy majesty,
And Guido da Polenta said to me,
“Daughter, behold thy husband!” with a bound
My heart went forth to meet thee.  He deceived,
He lied to me—­ah! that’s the aptest word—­
And I believed.  Shall I not turn again,
And meet him, craft with craft?  Paolo, love,
Thou’rt dull—­thou’rt dying like a feeble fire
Before the sunshine.  Was it but a blaze,
A flash of glory, and a long, long night?