Page:Poems (IA poemslowell00lowe).pdf/109
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Rosaline.
91
Why did I fear to let thee stay
To look on me and pass away
Forgivingly, as in its May
A broken flower, Rosaline?
To look on me and pass away
Forgivingly, as in its May
A broken flower, Rosaline?
I thought not, when my dagger strook,
Of thy blue eyes: I could not brook
The past all pleading in one look
Of utter sorrow, Rosaline!
I did not know when thou wast dead;
A blackbird whistling overhead
Thrilled through my brain; I would have fled,
But dared not leave thee, Rosaline!
Of thy blue eyes: I could not brook
The past all pleading in one look
Of utter sorrow, Rosaline!
I did not know when thou wast dead;
A blackbird whistling overhead
Thrilled through my brain; I would have fled,
But dared not leave thee, Rosaline!
A low, low moan, a light twig stirred
By the upspringing of a bird,
A drip of blood, were all I heard,—
Then deathly stillness, Rosaline!
The sun rolled down, and very soon,
Like a great fire, the awful moon
Rose, stained with blood, and then a swoon
Crept chilly o'er me, Rosaline
By the upspringing of a bird,
A drip of blood, were all I heard,—
Then deathly stillness, Rosaline!
The sun rolled down, and very soon,
Like a great fire, the awful moon
Rose, stained with blood, and then a swoon
Crept chilly o'er me, Rosaline