 | Fantasy and Passion |  |
82
D'OUTRE MORT.
And so 'tis over at last;
The passion and pain are past;
Death has him and holds him fast!
The passion and pain are past;
Death has him and holds him fast!
And now to the chamber dumb
Of his death-sleep white and numb,
Who of all earth should come
Of his death-sleep white and numb,
Who of all earth should come
To look on him where he lies,
With her two cold stars of eyes,
And sigh the old common sighs,—
With her two cold stars of eyes,
And sigh the old common sighs,—
Who should stand by his bed,
In her sadness so well-bred,
With just the right poise of head,
In her sadness so well-bred,
With just the right poise of head,
But she, this woman he bore,
Through life till his life was o'er,
Such infinite yearning for?
Through life till his life was o'er,
Such infinite yearning for?
And now she stands by his bed,
Forgetting to try and shed
One tear, as she sees him dead.
Forgetting to try and shed
One tear, as she sees him dead.
And when those about her fare
From the room, with solemn air,
She follows, leaving him there.
From the room, with solemn air,
She follows, leaving him there.
But just as she nears the door,
There drops on the shadowed floor
A sweet rich rose that she wore.
There drops on the shadowed floor
A sweet rich rose that she wore.
83
It drops, and she does not know,
And so lets it lie, and so
Goes out as the others go.
And so lets it lie, and so
Goes out as the others go.
Now they that next draw near
This man, in his sleep austere,
Find, shrinking away with fear,
This man, in his sleep austere,
Find, shrinking away with fear,
That a rose, once bright and bland,
Is crushed in his frigid hand ...
And they cannot understand! ...
Is crushed in his frigid hand ...
And they cannot understand! ...
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