With the burthen of an honour
Unto which she was not born.
“Faint she grew, and even fainter,
As she murmur’d, ‘Oh, that he
Were once more that landscape painter,
Which did win my heart from me.’
“So she droop’d and droop’d before him,
Fading slowly from his side;
Three fair children first she bore him,
Then before her time she died.