At the same moment my last string snapped, a swarming darkness clouded my sight, the violin fell from my wet, burning hands, and I reeled back, faint and dizzy, when I felt soft arms embracing me, and somebody sobbed and laughed, "You have saved her, Maestro; praise be to God and all His saints in heaven! May the Madonna bless you forever and ever--" I heard no more, but fell into a death-like swoon. "O MOON, LARGE GOLDEN SUMMER MOON!" O MOON, large golden summer moon, Hanging between the linden trees, Which in the intermittent breeze Beat with the rhythmic pulse of June! O night-air, scented through and through With honey-colored flower of lime, Sweet now as in that other time When all my heart was sweet as you! The sorcery of this breathing bloom Works like enchantment in my brain, Till, shuddering back to life again, My dead self rises from its tomb. And lovely with the love of yore, Its white ghost haunts the moon-white ways; But when it meets me face to face, Flies trembling to the grave once more. GREEN LEAVES AND SERE Three tall poplars beside the pool Shiver and moan in the gusty blast; The carded clouds are blown like wool, And the yellowing leaves fly thick and fast. The leaves, now driven before the blast, Now flung by fits on the curdling pool, Are tossed heaven-high and dropped at last As if at the whim of a jabbering fool. O leaves, once rustling green and cool! Two met here where one moans aghast With wild heart heaving towards the past: Three tall poplars beside the pool. GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO (1313-1375) BY W. J. STILLMAN