XXIII.
How can'st thou slumber calmly,
Whilst I alive remain?
My olden wrath returneth,
And then I snap my chain.
Know'st thou the ancient ballad
Of that dead lover brave,
Who rose and dragged his lady
At midnight to his grave?
Believe me, I am living;
And I am stronger far,
Most pure, most radiant maiden,
Than all the dead men are.