 | Lays of France |  |
Yea, these were three
Whose lives and deaths were hers; and she
Had only given good to one;
And all were with her now, to share
And haunt her thoughts quite to the bare
Lone end of living. There was none
Among sweet women whose ripe heart,
Full of the perfect precious part
Of many a love, was a deep tomb
Where fair dead lay in goodly gloom
More royally than these, whose fate
Was filled and ended in her, lay
In her proud heart, disconsolate
And lonely, turning from the day
Into its own rich grieving gray.
Whose lives and deaths were hers; and she
Had only given good to one;
And all were with her now, to share
And haunt her thoughts quite to the bare
Lone end of living. There was none
Among sweet women whose ripe heart,
Full of the perfect precious part
Of many a love, was a deep tomb
Where fair dead lay in goodly gloom
More royally than these, whose fate
Was filled and ended in her, lay
In her proud heart, disconsolate
And lonely, turning from the day
Into its own rich grieving gray.
| Lays of France | |