Antonio loved the Lady Clare. He caught her to him on the stair And pressed her breasts and kissed her hair, And drew her lips in his, and drew Her soul out like a torch's flare. Her breath came quick, her blood swirled round; Her senses in a vortex swound. She tore him loose and turned around, And reached her chamber in a bound Her cheeks turned to a poppy's hue. She closed the door and turned the lock, Her breasts and flesh were turned to rock. She reeled as drunken from the shock. Before her eyes the devils skipped, She thought she heard the devils mock. For had her soul not been as pure As sifted snow, could she endure Antonio's passion and be sure Against his passion's strength and lure? Lean fears along her wonder slipped. Outside she heard a drunkard call, She heard a beggar against the wall Shaking his cup, a harlot's squall Struck through the riot like a sword, And gashed the midnight's festival. She watched the city through the pane, The old Silenus half insane, The idiot crowd that drags its chain-- And then she heard the bells again, And heard the voices with the word: Ecco il santo! Up the street There was the sound of running feet From closing door and window seat, And all the crowd turned on its way The Saint of Poverty to greet. He passed. And then a circling thrill, As water troubled which was still, Went through her body like a chill, Who of Antonio thought until She heard the Saint begin to pray. And then she turned into the room Her soul was cloven through with doom, Treading the softness and the gloom Of Asia's silk and Persia's wool, And China's magical perfume. She sickened from the vases hued In corals, yellows, greens, the lewd Twined dragon shapes and figures nude, And tapestries that showed a brood Of leopards by a pool! Candles of wax she lit before A pier glass standing from the floor; Up to the ceiling, off she tore With eager hands her jewels, then The silken vesture which she wore. Her little breasts so round to see Were budded like the peony. Her arms were white as ivory, And all her sunny hair lay free As marigold or celandine. Her blue eyes sparkled like a vase Of crackled turquoise, in her face Was memory of the mad embrace Antonio gave her on the stair, And on her cheeks a salt tear's trace. Like pigeon blood her lips were red. She clasped her bands above her head. Under her arms the waxlight shed Delicate halos where was spread The downy growth of hair. Such sudden sin the virgin knew She quenched the tapers as she blew Puff! puff! upon them, then she threw Herself in tears upon her knees, And round her couch the curtain drew. She called upon St. Francis' name, Feeling Antonio's passion maim Her body with his passion's flame To save her, save her from the shame Of fancies such as these!