There was an opening in the common wall That made their houses two, long unobserved, But (what does not love see?) by them discerned. Of this they made a passage for the voice, And, safe from notice, murmured loving words. As oftentimes they stood, the wall between, Whispering and catching soft replies in turn, “O envious wall, that standest in our way, Who love each other!” they would, vexed, exclaim, “If thou would’st let us meet full face to face, Or e’en enough to touch each other’s lips! And yet we are not thankless; ’tis to thee We owe this pleasure of exchanging words.” Thus oft conversing, at approach of night, They said “farewell,” and kissed with longing lips, That never met, the wall that stood between; And when Aurora quenched the fires of night, And Phœbus dried the dew upon the grass, They came again unto the trysting place. Once, having come and many plaints exchanged Of their sad lot, they each with each agreed To leave their homes, and in the silent night Baffling their guardians, through the quiet streets, Pass to the fields, and meet at Ninus’ tomb. There stood a tree with snow-white fruit adorned-- A lofty mulberry--a cool fount close by; This was to be their trysting-place. That day Was slow to vanish in the western sea. Then in the darkness Thisbe issued forth, With stealthy footsteps, and with close-veiled face. She reached the tomb, and ’neath the trysting-tree Sat down (love made her confident); when, lo! A lioness, her mouth all froth and blood, From recent slaughter, came to quench her thirst At the near fountain. Thisbe saw her come, (For the moon shone) and fled with frightened feet Into a cave, and, running, dropt her veil; Which, having quenched her thirst, the lioness, Returning, found, and tore with bloody mouth. Just then, came Pyramus with later feet, Who saw the lion’s tracks deep in the soil, And paled with sudden fear. But when he found His Thisbe’s garment stained with blood, he cried, “One fatal night two lovers shall destroy, Of whom she was the worthier of life! My soul is guilty, O dear perished love, Who bade thee come at night to scenes of dread, And let thee come the first. O lions! rush From where you have your dens beneath the rock, And tear these cursed limbs with ruthless teeth! But--’tis a coward’s part to wish for death.”