Classic Poem

A serving woman speaks:

Black velvet trails its folds over the day;
White tapers dripping in their silver frames
Wave their thin flames and shadows in the wind.

Pia, Pompia, Bella Cunizza, come — come away!

We will not touch her till the end of day.
Her cheeks are clear as tapers tipped with flames,
Her lips like red leaves frightened in the wind.

Pia, Pompia, Bella Cunizza, come — come away!

Her toes are stiffened like a stork's in flight.
She's laid upon her bed, on the white sheets,
Her hands pressed on her smooth bust like a saint.

Pia, Pompia, come into the light.

When first we found her, her dead lips were white,
Then Ser Filippo found her straightened on her sheets.
There are shrewd poisons shut in scarlet paint.

Bella Cunizza, come into the light.

Sh-h! There slides in black doublet and black hose,
White cheeks against black velvet, lips that move,
And living lips that kiss the painted mouth!

I begin to be afraid, Pia, keep close.

White petals meddling with the red-drenched rose. . . .
When you are alive — that is the time for love,
And sobbing palm on hand and mouth on mouth.

Bella Cunizza, pinch the arras close.

There is a tottering and grasping and straying of hands,
And a dull sound — ho! — like a headsman's thud,
When the cut head swims all oozy from the axe.

A flare of scarlet with black velvet bands!

Pietro's hands parry for our lady's hands.
His lips were pale, and now — is it blood?
His eyes strain upward, open; the thighs relax.

Take care, lest Filippo see you where he stands!