And that brow was as wan as if it were
Of snowy marble, and the raven hair,
That would have clustered over, was all shorn,
And his fine features stricken pale as morn.
He kiss’d a golden crucifix, that hung
Around his neck, and, in a transport, flung
Himself upon the earth, and said, and said
Wild, raving words, about the blessed dead;
And then he rose, and in the moon-shade stood,
Gazing upon its light in solitude,