With lips that would not moan,
While shone thy regal brow and eyes with grand
Aspirings all thine own.
At last among thy Romans thou didst find
A shrine for that large heart;
It understood thee not, the Northern mind,
But coldly shrunk apart,
When those pale lips—from whence, an hour agone,
Flew out, like rifted light,
Winged words of wit—murmured their wailed "Alone"