He was distressed—each fond retainer then
Softened his voice to whispers—each pale face
Did but reflect the sadness fixed in his:
Save where the two—two fair and lovely ones,
Too young for guilt or sorrow, or to know
Such words as wordlings know them—save where they,
Pranking in childhood's headlong gaiety,
Sent the loud shout—like laughter through the tomb—
And mocked his anguish, with their joyousness.
Oh, that in sleep, some cry of joy or pain