In the cold earth, and heard a requiem
Sung over her. To him it was a dream:
A marble stone stood by the sepulchre;
He look’d, and saw, and started—she was there!
And Agathè had died: she that was bright—
She that was in her beauty! a cold blight
Fell over the young blossom of her brow,
And the life’s blood grew chill—she is not now.
She died like Zephyr falling amid flowers!
Like to a star within the twilight hours