Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/293

Rh

"This is what I prayed might be— "Has death not sealed my truth to thee!"...

A cypress springs by yonder grave, And music from the fountain wave Sings its low dirge to the pale rose That, near, in lonely beauty blows. Two lovers sleep beneath. Oh, sweet, Even in the grave, it is to meet; Sweet even the death-couch of stone, When shared with some beloved one; And sweeter than life the silent rest Of on her 's breast.