  An hour before the dawn I dreamed of you; Your spirit made a smile upon your face, As fleeting as the visionary grace That music lends to words; and when it flew, I thought of how the maid Francesca grew, So lovely at Ravenna, until Time Ripened the fruit of her immortal crime. As pure as light my vision took this hue To paint our sorrow: so your lips made moan; ‘Upon that day we read no more therein’: I wept, such tears Paolo might have known; And all the love, the immemorial pain, Swept down upon me as I felt begin, That furious circle rage and reel again. |
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