Page:Lyrics of Life, Coates, 1909.djvu/95

 Rh Like a royal rose,—the story saith,—

Peerless and pale, with a rose's breath

At her parted lips, she lay in death.

Her braids were held by a jewelled dart,—

And, where her bodice fell apart,

A jewelled dagger pierced her heart.

To find her foe, men strove in vain;

They sought again and yet again,—

But no one mourned with my brother's pain;

For he had loved her from the hour

His father won her with that dower

Of beauty, rare as an aloe's flower;

And she loved him till our father died;

Then something—was it grief or pride?—

Made her as marble at his side.

They say—the vassals of our race—

She wore thenceforth a wintry grace,

Like the frozen scorn on her fair dead face;

And though my brother strove at morn

And eve to comfort her, forlorn,

She met him still with that cruel scorn.