Each syllable and drain its separate sweetness,
When, breaking on her still seclusion, came
A messenger: "Sweet mistress, grace I pray!
But unaware our lord hath come again,
Bringing his gossips; and he bade me fetch
My lady, if only for a one half hour,
Saying the wine was flavorless without
Her hand to pour it."
At the word she rose,
And unreluctant followed. No undertow
Of hidden regret disturbed the azure calm
Of those clear eyes that still reflected heaven.
Then, when they all had drunk and been refreshed,
And forth had ridden, Francesca sought her place,
And pored again above the Psalter's leaf:
"_In voluntate tua deduxisti_,"
Conning it over with a tender joy,
As if she verily felt her human hand
Close claspt in God's, and heard Him guiding her
With audible counsel; when there fell a touch
Upon her arm: "The Sister Barbara
Comes seeking wherewithal to dress some wounds
Got in a brawl upon the Esquiline."

And now athwart the western windows streamed
Rainbows of shafted light, as thither again
Francesca came to read her "Offices."
A beam, that seemed a golden pencil held
Within the fingers of the Christ that glowed
In the great oriel, pointed to the words