Page:A lover's tale (Tennyson, 1879).djvu/80

 'It was my wish,' he said, ' to pass, to sleep, To rest, to be with her—till the great day Peal'd on us with that music which rights all, And raised us hand in hand.' And kneeling there Down in the dreadful dust that once was man, Dust, as he said, that once was loving hearts, Hearts that had beat with such a love as mine— Not such as mine, no, nor for such as her— He softly put his arm about her neck And kissed her more than once, till helpless death And silence made him bold—nay, but I wrong him, He reverenced his dear lady even in death; But, placing his true hand upon her heart, 'O, you warm heart,' he moan'd, 'not even death Can chill you all at once:' then starting, thought His dreams had come again. 'Do I wake or sleep? Or am I made immortal, or my love Mortal once more?' It beat—the heart—it beat: