We were alone and sad; I looked on her.
The dying echo of her song seemed still
To vibrate in our souls. All passionless
Drooping upon my heart, she leaned her head.
The cry of Desdemona didst thou hear
In thee, dear girl? I know not—only this,
That thou didst weep, and on thine all-adored
Sweet mouth in sadness let me press mine own;
Thy sorrow was it that received my kiss...
So kissed I thee, all cold and colourless;