For many moons was her vest more tight,
And her cheek was pale, save when, with a start,
The life blood came from the panting heart,
And fluttering, o’er that thin fair face
Past with a rapid nameless pace,
And at moments a big tear filled the eye,
And at moments a short and smothered sigh
Swelled her breast with sudden strain,
Breathed half in grief, and half in pain,
For her’s are pangs, on the rack that wind