Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/41

Rh

Was not the settled aspect fair? Did not a queenly grace, Under the parted ebon hair, Sit on the pale still face?

Death! Death! canst thou be lovely Unto the eye of Life? Is not each pulse of the quick high breast With thy cold mien at strife? —It was a strange and fearful sight, The crown upon that head, The glorious robes, and the blaze of light, All gather'd round the Dead!

And beside her stood in silence One with a brow as pale, And white lips rigidly compress'd,   Lest the strong heart should fail: King Pedro, with a jealous eye, Watching the homage done,