Впервые я столкнулась с мотивом отрубленной головы, захороненной в цветочном горшке еще в детстве, из сказок доброго сказочника ГХА. Интересно мне знать, он эту историю тоже позаимствовал у Боккаччо?
With duller steel than the Persèan sword 6
They cut away no formless monster’s head,
But one, whose gentleness did well accord 395
With death, as life. The ancient harps have said,
Love never dies, but lives, immortal Lord:
If Love impersonate was ever dead,
Pale Isabella kiss’d it, and low moan’d.
’Twas live; cold,—dead indeed, but not dethroned. 400
In anxious secrecy they took it home,
And then the prize was all for Isabel:
She calm’d its wild hair with a golden comb,
And all around each eye’s sepulchral cell
Pointed each fringèd lash; the smearèd loam 405
With tears, as chilly as a dripping well,
She drench’d away:—and still she comb’d, and kept
Sighing all day—and still she kiss’d, and wept.
Then in a silken scarf, sweet with the dews
Of precious flowers pluck’d in Araby, 410
And divine liquids come with odorous ooze
Through the cold serpent pipe refreshfully,—
She wrapp’d it up; and for its tomb did choose
A garden-pot, wherein she laid it by,
And cover’d it with mould, and o’er it set 415
Sweet Basil, which her tears kept ever wet.
And she forgot the stars, the moon, and sun,
And she forgot the blue above the trees,
And she forgot the dells where waters run,
And she forgot the chilly autumn breeze; 420
She had no knowledge when the day was done,
And the new morn she saw not: but in peace
Hung over her sweet Basil evermore,
And moisten’d it with tears unto the core.
www.bartleby.com/333/396.html#note396.3