IX.
Alone, yet not alone—for cold and dead,
A manly form lies stretch’d upon its bier
And she whose hand supports her weary head,
Is gazing on her husband’s features there.
How peaceful is the smile those features wear!
One hand is laid in his, so icy cold,
The other hidden by her flowing hair;
And statue-like she sits, while scenes untold
Rush on her mental view, and glorious things unfold.