Within:—Yet something awfully serene,
Pure, sculpture-like, on the pale brow, that wore
Of the once beating heart no token more;
And stillness on the lip—and o’er the hair
A gleam, that trembled through the breathless air;
And an unfathom’d calm, that seem’d to lie
In the grave sweetness of th’ illumined eye,
Told of the gulfs between our being set,
And, as that unsheath’d spirit-glance I met,
Made my soul faint:—with fear? Oh! not with fear!