And all the rich array,
Are borne to the house of silence down,
With her, that queen of clay.
And tearlessly and firmly,
King Pedro led the train—
But his face was wrapt in his folding robe,
When they lower'd the dust again.
—'Tis hush'd at last, the tomb above,
Hymns die, and steps depart:
Who call'd thee strong as Death, O Love?