But set a springe for _him_, "mio ben," My only good, my first last love!-- Though Christ knows well what sin is, when He sees some things done they must move Himself to wonder. Let her pass. I think of her by night and day. Must _I_ too join her ... out, alas!... With Giulio, in each word I say? And evermore the nightingales! XVI. Giulio, my Giulio!--sing they so, And you be silent? Do I speak, And you not hear? An arm you throw Round someone, and I feel so weak? --Oh, owl-like birds! They sing for spite, They sing for hate, they sing for doom, They'll sing through death who sing through night, They'll sing and stun me in the tomb-- The nightingales, the nightingales! MY KATE. I. She was not as pretty as women I know, And yet all your best made of sunshine and snow Drop to shade, melt to nought in the long-trodden ways, While she's still remembered on warm and cold days-- My Kate. II. Her air had a meaning, her movements a grace; You turned from the fairest to gaze on her face: And when you had once seen her forehead and mouth, You saw as distinctly her soul and her truth-- My Kate. III. Such a blue inner light from her eyelids outbroke, You looked at her silence and fancied she spoke: When she did, so peculiar yet soft was the tone, Though the loudest spoke also, you heard her alone-- My Kate. IV. I doubt if she said to you much that could act As a thought or suggestion: she did not attract In the sense of the brilliant or wise: I infer 'T was her thinking of others made you think of her-- My Kate. V. She never found fault with you, never implied Your wrong by her right; and yet men at her side Grew nobler, girls purer, as through the whole town The children were gladder that pulled at her gown-- My Kate. VI. None knelt at her feet confessed lovers in thrall; They knelt more to God than they used,--that was all: If you praised her as charming, some asked what you meant, But the charm of her presence was felt when she went-- My Kate. VII. The weak and the gentle, the ribald and rude, She took as she found them, and did them all good; It always was so with her--see what you have! She has made the grass greener even here ... with her grave-- My Kate. VIII. My dear one!--when thou wast alive with the rest, I held thee the sweetest and loved thee the best: And now thou art dead, shall I not take thy part As thy smiles used to do for thyself, my sweet Heart-- My Kate? A SONG FOR THE RAGGED SCHOOL OF LONDON. WRITTEN IN ROME. I.