Only her full impassion’d eyes as o’er that clay she bent,
A wildness and a tenderness in strange resplendence blent.
And as the swift thoughts cross’d her soul, like shadows of a cloud,
Amidst the silent room of death the dreamer spoke aloud;
She spoke to him that could not hear, and cried,
“Thou yet wilt wake,
And learn my watchings and my tears, beloved one! for thy sake.
“They told me this was death, but well I knew it could not be;
Fairest and stateliest of the earth! who spoke of death for thee?
They would have wrapp’d the funeral shroud thy gallant form around,