Page:Poems (IA poemslowell00lowe).pdf/111
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Rosaline.
87
I saw my mother's dying bed,
I heard her bless me, and I shed
Cool tears,—but, lo! the ghastly dead
Stared me to madness, Rosaline!
I heard her bless me, and I shed
Cool tears,—but, lo! the ghastly dead
Stared me to madness, Rosaline!
And then, amid the silent night,
I screamed with horrible delight,
And in my brain an awful light
Did seem to crackle, Rosaline!
It is my curse! sweet memories fall
From me like snow,—and only all
Of that one night, like cold worms, crawl
My doomed heart over, Rosaline!
I screamed with horrible delight,
And in my brain an awful light
Did seem to crackle, Rosaline!
It is my curse! sweet memories fall
From me like snow,—and only all
Of that one night, like cold worms, crawl
My doomed heart over, Rosaline!
Thine eyes are shut: they never more
Will leap thy gentle words before
To tell the secret o'er and o'er
Thou couldst not smother, Rosaline!
Thine eyes are shut; they will not shine
With happy tears, or, through the vine
That hid thy casement, beam on mine,
Sunful with gladness, Rosaline
Will leap thy gentle words before
To tell the secret o'er and o'er
Thou couldst not smother, Rosaline!
Thine eyes are shut; they will not shine
With happy tears, or, through the vine
That hid thy casement, beam on mine,
Sunful with gladness, Rosaline