The Venetian bracelet :: :: University of Virginia Library

That night there was another saddest scene:
Halls where mirth, music, festival had been
Were as the house of mourning; crowds stood nigh,
Horror and pity mark'd in every eye.
—Upon a crimson couch—a contrast strange
To those pale features in that ghastly change—
The young, the beautiful, the happy lay,
Life passing in convulsive sobs away.
Still mid her hair the red rose wreath was hung,
Mocking her cheek with the rich dye it flung;

The festal robe still sparkled as it flow'd;
Still on her neck a few fresh flowers glow'd:
The warmth her sandal'd foot hath scarcely left,
Light from the dance, though now of motion reft!
—The agony is over,—and she raised
Her feeble head, and round her faintly gazed:
She saw, she leant upon Leoni's breast,
Murmur'd his name, and sank as if to rest.
“Edith, sweet Edith, speak to me again!”
Thou fond one—even thou must ask in vain:
Ay, kiss those lips, and fancy they have breath,
Till they chill even thee:—they're damp with death.