Page:From the Garden of Hellas.djvu/30

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At the bride's gates the lotos flutes were sounding
 * All yesterday, doors swinging to and fro.

This morn for Clearista all are weeping.
 * Their song of Hymen changed to dirge of woe.

Her bridegroom, Death; she'll have no other wedding.
 * For him she looseneth her virgin zone.

The very torches for her bridal burning.
 * Shall light her trembling feet to Acheron.