the dream.
135
Dead!—dead thou wert! Cold lay that form,
In rarest beauty moulded,
And meekly, o'er thy still, white breast
The snowy hands were folded.
In rarest beauty moulded,
And meekly, o'er thy still, white breast
The snowy hands were folded.
Methought thy couch was fitly strewn
With many a fragrant blossom;
Fresh violets thy fingers clasped,
And rose-buds decked thy bosom:
With many a fragrant blossom;
Fresh violets thy fingers clasped,
And rose-buds decked thy bosom:
But thine eyes, so like young violets,
Might smile upon me never—
And the rose-bloom from thy cheek and lip
Had fled away for ever!
Might smile upon me never—
And the rose-bloom from thy cheek and lip
Had fled away for ever!
I raised thee lovingly, thy head
Against my bosom leaning,
And called thy name, and spoke to thee
In words of tenderest meaning.
Against my bosom leaning,
And called thy name, and spoke to thee
In words of tenderest meaning.
I sought to warm thee at my breast,
My arms close round thee flinging;
To breathe my life into thy lips,
With kisses fond and clinging.
My arms close round thee flinging;
To breathe my life into thy lips,
With kisses fond and clinging.
