And o’er it dropt the flagstone.—One could read
That Agathè lay there; but still the girl
Lay by him, like a precious and pale pearl,
That from the deep sea-waters had been rent—
Like a star fallen from the firmament!
He hides the grave-tools in an aged porch,
To westward of the solitary church:
And he hath clasp’d around the melting waist,
The beautiful, dead girl: his cheek is pressed
To hers—life warming the cold chill of death!