Now, as the twilight fell the second day,
Another mourner came: she spoke no word:
Miriam had put the key within her hand,
Turning aside, to dash away her tears:
The widowed woman went up-stairs alone.
One moment gazing on her Enoch's face,
She stoop'd to kiss it, putting back the hair,
As she had done in life: then kneeling down
She pray'd,—"forgive me,—pity me,—Oh God."
She touch'd his marble-cold, pale, hand with hers,