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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536448" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Giacinta</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Giacinta sat upon the garden wall<br>Among the autumn lilies, and let fall<br>Their crimson petals on her lover's head,<br>And laughed because her little hands were red.<br>She was the fairest child of Italy,<br>And it was well the lilies thus should die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Giulio shuddered when she made him kiss<br>The stains away in her pride's wantonness<br>And held them up between him and the sun<br>That he might see the red blood flame and run<br>In the long finger--clefts from root to tip,<br>And still she pressed them closer to his lip,<br>And still she laughed. But Giulio looked at her<br>And it was half in love and half in fear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, when she saw him tremble, childishly<br>She laid both hands in his, and with a sigh<br>Told him to pity them. And he in vain<br>Hid them in his and would have hid his pain,<br>And tried to speak but could not for the weight<br>Upon his breast. And so the lovers sat<br>In a hard silence, while Giacinta's laugh<br>Rang in his ears like the discordant half<br>Of some fair carol from a tavern flung,<br>She watching him above, the flowers among,<br>First with her smile and then with a hurt pride<br>Kindling to wrath. And ``Fool'' at last she cried,<br>``You think because this hand of mine is white<br>And smooth to touch and wise in love's delight<br>It had not dared to dabble in such red,<br>The blood--of these dead flowers--for dead is dead;<br>And you sit dumb and tremble and turn pale<br>Because I laugh to see the lilies fall.<br>Why not laugh with me, since you have the heart<br>To say you love me in my tragic part?<br>Think you that blood can make a hand less white,<br>Or all the ink of heaven blot out to--night<br>The innocent stars, or kisses steal away<br>The sweetness of red lips, or memory<br>Drive laughter from the world? The moon grows wan<br>And wastes and fades and shrivels to a span,<br>Yet men watch on beyond the hills at even,<br>And lo there is a new moon in the heaven!<br>Look in my eyes. Are they less pure and keen<br>For all the passion which their depths have seen?<br>Is there a stain upon my brows? My cheek<br>Is it less fair for what it dares not speak?<br>Oh, Simon's blood was not so red a thing<br>But it has left my face its colouring.<br>Or think you drops from any vein of his<br>Could make my fingers blush as deep as this?''</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Giulio's courage sickened when he heard<br>Giacinta suddenly speak out this word.<br>She was the fairest child of Italy,<br>But Giulio thought it had been well to die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">``yet, had it left me pale,'' she said, ``I know<br>It had been all as one to Giulio<br>To love a pale face. You will love me yet<br>Though I have told you how my hands are wet,<br>And when I hold them out to you to kiss<br>Your lips will burn to drink away the lees.<br>Oh, lovers, lovers! Wherefore will you preach,<br>When women laugh at what you dare to teach<br>Of truth and honour? Is there one of you,<br>One honourable friend, one bosom true,<br>That will not sell his virtue for a kiss<br>Though the mouth that gave it were a nest of lies,<br>And will not soothe his soul with the deceit<br>Which swears a rose is not a whit less sweet<br>Because an angry bee was in its cell<br>An hour ago?--Oh, lovers reason well!<br>So take the flower and deign forget the bee.<br>But Giulio, do not bid me stop and see<br>How beautiful a thing your virtue is,<br>And do not cry to the unheeding skies<br>`Did I not love her?' See, I hate your love<br>More than I hate yourself.'' And Giulio strove<br>With his weak heart and could not bear the pain.<br>And so he took Giacinta's hand again,<br>Without more word. But she in softened mood<br>Looked on the boy her beauty had subdued,<br>And said ``Poor Giulio! I have never shown<br>Much hate to you, and this you needs must own,<br>Only beware of loving me. 'Tis strange<br>That men are wise, yet cannot take the range<br>Of a silly woman's mind, but still devise<br>Of their fool's love, as if it were the prize<br>For which a woman might forget the cost<br>Of her undoing and a world well lost,<br>And cannot see that love is only this,<br>A pretty word to whisper in a kiss,<br>As when one says, `God bless you' with `Good--night.'<br>But Giulio, who would ever suffer it<br>A man should always have the name of God<br>Upon his lips?'' Her lover only trod<br>The lilies with his heel. At last he sighed,<br>``And Simon loved you, and for this he died?''</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They sat till dusk upon the garden wall,<br>And she began to sing a madrigal<br>About the falling leaves and quite forgot<br>To answer him. But Giulio heeded not<br>Because he held her hand. He could not flee.<br>She was the fairest child of Italy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Wilfrid+Scawen+Blunt">Wilfrid Scawen Blunt</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536448" data-title="Giacinta de Wilfrid Scawen Blunt" data-description="Giacinta sat upon the garden wall
Among the autumn lilies, and let fall
Their crimson petals on her lover's head,
And laughed because her little hands were red.
She was the fairest child of Italy,
And it was well the lilies thus should die.

But G..."></div>
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