And on the flowery crimson of his cheek,
With her white lips, a long, long kiss she press’d,
Yet light, to wake him not. Then sank her head
Against my bursting heart. What did I clasp?—The dead!
LVI.
I call’d! To call what answers not our cries—
By what we loved to stand unseen, unheard—
With the loud passion of our tears and sighs,
To see but some cold glittering ringlet stirr’d;
And in the quench’d eye’s fixedness to gaze,