PIA DEI TOLOMEI TO LOVE AND DEATH.
(1295.)
The distant hills are blue as lips of death;
Between myself and them the hot swamps steam
In fetid curls, which, in the twilight, seem
Like gathering phantoms waiting for my breath;
While in the August heat with chattering teeth
I sit, and icy limbs, and let the stream
Of recollection flow in a dull dream;
Or weave, with marish blooms, my own death-wreath.
O Love that hast undone me, and through whom
I waste in this Maremma: King of Sighs,
Behold thy handmaid in her heavy doom!
Send me thy brother Death who so oft flies
Across these marshes in the semi-gloom,
To bear me to thy amber-tinted skies.
