 | Lays of France |  |
Would the place,
That bore so long the lovely grace
And wayward grief of Sarrazine,
Had never lost the tender spell
Of the half death that seemed to dwell
Out of time there on what was green
Of leaf and what was grey, on bird
And sleepless wraith;—would none had stirr'd
The gloomy magic making there
Some lone eternity to scare
Untoward striving fates and save
Her soul and body in one grave
Of safe sleep unresponsive.
That bore so long the lovely grace
And wayward grief of Sarrazine,
Had never lost the tender spell
Of the half death that seemed to dwell
Out of time there on what was green
Of leaf and what was grey, on bird
And sleepless wraith;—would none had stirr'd
The gloomy magic making there
Some lone eternity to scare
Untoward striving fates and save
Her soul and body in one grave
Of safe sleep unresponsive.
| Lays of France | |