Ah! well! those days are gone. No! no!
They are not gone; I love him madly now.
I love him madly as I loved him then.
Ah, God! how blissfully those days went by!
You could not fill a golden cup more full
Of rubied wine than was my heart with joy.
Long mornings in his studio, there I sat
And heard his voice; or, when he did not speak,
I felt his presence like a rich perfume,
Fill all my thoughts.
I was his model. Hours and hours I posed
For him to paint his Cleopatra, fierce,
With her squared brows, and full Egyptian lips;
A great gold serpent on her rounded arm,
And a broad band of gold around her head.
At last the autumn came, the stricken, bleeding autumn.
Something weighed upon his mind I could not understand.
I knew all was not right, yet dared not ask.
At last few words made all things plain;
"Love, I must go to Venice." "Must?" "Yes, must."
"Then I go, too." "No, no; ah, Nina, no.
Four weeks pass swiftly; one short month, and then
I shall return to Florence, and to you.
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