Page:Poems of Emma Lazarus vol 2.djvu/249

Rh Whose sustenance doth fail by slow degrees, Wearing onto the end, its wonted plight Not pale, but whiter than the snow one sees Flaking a hillside through the windless air. lake one overwearied, she reposed in peace As 't were a sweet sleep filled each lovely eye. The soul already having fled from there. And this is what dull fools have named to die. Upon her fair face death itself seemed fair.