The white lids veil the large grey, lustrous eyes,
The auburn lashes sweep the sunlit cheeks,
Yet are they wet, and cling to the soft skin
Whereon the damp of tears is glazing fast.
Maremna’s sleep is not the sleep of rest,
For ever and anon the blood-red lips
Unclose, and strive to speak, but yet remain
Silent and speechless, tied by some dread force
Which intervenes, denying to the brain
That comfort which the power of speech doth bring.