 | Fazio |  |
Scene I.
—A Street—Morning twilight.Bianca.
Where have I been?—I have not been at rest—
There's yet the stir of motion in my limbs.
Oh, I remember—'twas a hideous strife
Within my brain: I felt that all was hopeless,
Yet would not credit it; and I set forth
To tell my Fazio so, and dared not front him
With such cold comfort. Then a mist came o'er me,
And something drove me on, and on, and on,
Street after street, each blacker than the other,
And a blue axe did skimmer through the gloom—
Its fiery edge did waver to and fro—
And there were infants' voices, faint and failing,
That panted after me. I knew I fled them;
Yet could not choose but fly. And then, oh then,
I gazed and gazed upon the starless darkness,
And blest it in my soul, for it was deeply
And beautifully black—no speck of light;
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That it would last for ever, nor give place
To th' horrible to-morrow.—Ha, 'tis there!—
'Tis the grey morning light aches in mine eyes—
It is that morrow!—Ho!—Look out, look out!
With what a hateful and unwonted swiftness
It scares my comfortable darkness from me!—
Fool that I am!—I've lost the few brief hours
Yet left me of my Fazio!—Oh, away,
Away to him!—away!
[Exit.
| Fazio | |