When he had sat in silence long enough Splintering the stone bench, braving a rebuff She stopped the truncheon; only to commence One of Sordello's poems, a pretence For speaking, some poor rhyme of "Elys' hair And head that's sharp and perfect like a pear, So smooth and close are laid the few fine locks [Sidenote: May, even from the depths of failure] Stained like pale honey oozed from topmost rocks Sun-blanched the livelong summer"--from his worst Performance, the Goito, as his first: And that at end, conceiving from the brow And open mouth no silence would serve now, Went on to say the whole world loved that man And, for that matter, thought his face, though wan, Eclipsed the Count's--he sucking in each phrase As if an angel spoke. The foolish praise Ended, he drew her on his mailed knees, made Her face a framework with his hands, a shade, A crown, an aureole: there must she remain (Her little mouth compressed with smiling pain As in his gloves she felt her tresses twitch) To get the best look at, in fittest niche Dispose his saint. That done, he kissed her brow, --"Lauded her father for his treason now," He told her, "only, how could one suspect The wit in him?--whose clansman, recollect, Was ever Salinguerra--she, the same, Romano and his lady--so, might claim To know all, as she should"--and thus begun Schemes with a vengeance, schemes on schemes, "not one Fit to be told that foolish boy," he said, "But only let Sordello Palma wed, --Then!" 'T was a dim long narrow place at best: [Sidenote: Yet spring to the summit of success,] Midway a sole grate showed the fiery West, As shows its corpse the world's end some split tomb-- A gloom, a rift of fire, another gloom, Faced Palma--but at length Taurello set Her free; the grating held one ragged jet Of fierce gold fire: he lifted her within The hollow underneath--how else begin Fate's second marvellous cycle, else renew The ages than with Palma plain in view? Then paced the passage, hands clenched, head erect, Pursuing his discourse; a grand unchecked Monotony made out from his quick talk And the recurring noises of his walk; --Somewhat too much like the o'ercharged assent Of two resolved friends in one danger blent, Who hearten each the other against heart; Boasting there 's naught to care for, when, apart The boaster, all 's to care for. He, beside Some shape not visible, in power and pride Approached, out of the dark, ginglingly near, Nearer, passed close in the broad light, his ear Crimson, eyeballs suffused, temples full-fraught, Just a snatch of the rapid speech you caught, And on he strode into the opposite dark, Till presently the harsh heel's turn, a spark I' the stone, and whirl of some loose embossed thong