And when in snows its bloom shall fade,
Child of the sun, think of thy maid
Who slumbers under Northern snows.
Her morning years were quickly passed,—
See, Axel, now the cloud moves fast—
Farewell,—farewell!”—She sank, and sighed
And pressed her lover’s hand, and died.
Then forth from realms of nether air
Not death, but death’s young brother rose,—
Pale, fierce insanity, which goes