Mortadello

OR, THE ANGEL OF VENICE 99 There enter MONICA, veiled, in a dancer’s dress, and LUCREZIA, also veiled, with a guitar. ALESSANDRO. True children of the East, their motion is the form Of foray and of feast, of dusty devil-storm. MORTADELLO. The Mass, what figures ! Pass the wine ! Zelina, curl Your lissom arm, my lass, around me. LORENZO. See the girl At the first twitterings of the gallant guitar Sways like a palm and swings. ALESSANDRO. Nay, trembles like a star ! MONICA. [Sings to an Oriental dance.] The moon is on the horizon ; the desert aches To turn its face to silent space ; I see the snakes And scorpions make orisons to neighbour Night, Their holy hate envenom Fate, envenom Light, Envenom all that cringe or call, that start or stir. Love’s holocaust is to exhaust who loveth her, Exhaust of light, exhaust of might, exhaust of love, Until their world of woe uncurled reach out above To where the great black snake of Fate is coiled about The very spine of God, a vine divine, devout. Oh for the blind kiss of the wind, the desert air Thrilling the blue and shrilling through my soul’s despair ! Oh for the sharp edge of the escarpments of the dunes ! Diffract through haze the rigid rays of the dead moons ! Saturn of lead, and Mars all red, and Venus blue, And purple Jove, lend me your love, as mine to you ! All stars, all vast worlds that stream past. I lust to slake