And the rose faded. Forth from those blue eyes
There spake a wishful tenderness—a doubt
Whether to grieve or sleep—which innocence
Alone may wear. With ruthless hand he bound
The silken fringes of those curtaining lids
For ever. There had been a murmuring sound
With which the babe would claim its mother’s ear,
Charming her even to tears. The spoiler set
The seal of silence. But there beamed a smile
So fixed, so holy, from that cherub brow,