Page:Atalanta in Calydon - a tragedy (IA atalantaincalydo00swinrich).pdf/120

 Let your hands meet Round the weight of my head; Lift ye my feet As the feet of the dead; For the flesh of my body is molten, the limbs of it molten as lead.

O thy luminous face, Thine imperious eyes! O the grief, O the grace, As of day when it dies! Who is this bending over thee, lord, with tears and suppression of sighs?

Is a bride so fair? Is a maid so meek? With unchapleted hair, With unfilleted cheek, Atalanta, the pure among women, whose name is as blessing to speak.