LOUIS A. ROBERTS.

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FRANCESCA'S WORSHIP.


In the deep afternoon, when westering calms
Brooded above the streets of Rome, and hushed
Their noisier clamor, at her orisons,
In San Domenico, Francesca knelt.
All day her charities had overflowed
For others. Husband, children, friends had claimed
Service ungrudged; the poor had gotten their dole,
Doubled by reason of her soothing hands;
Sick eyes had lifted at her coming, as lifts
The parcht Campagna grass at the cool kisses
Of winds that have been dallying with the snows
Of Alban mountain-tops. And now, released
From outward ministries, and free to turn
Inward, and up the solemn aisle of thought
Conduct her soul, she bowed with open page
Before the altar: "_Tenuisti manum
Dexteram meam_."
On her lips she held
The words caressingly, as she would taste