The Death of Beatrice
He kneels beside our Lady's bier
And we who gaze as though a spell
Held us, half deem the steps drew near
Of very grief grown visible—
Sorrow made manifest and clear.
And we who gaze as though a spell
Held us, half deem the steps drew near
Of very grief grown visible—
Sorrow made manifest and clear.
Lowly he kneels, thus murmuring,
'Oh! face, beyond expression pure,
Oh! marvellous face, what offering,
What gift is mine? How shall endure,
After the Spring, the songs of Spring!
'Oh! face, beyond expression pure,
Oh! marvellous face, what offering,
What gift is mine? How shall endure,
After the Spring, the songs of Spring!
'How pale art thou, who conquerest Death!
Life sits beside thee winged and fair,
Thy silence quivers with his breath,
The wind is still and the quiet air
Full, full of the great words he saith.
Life sits beside thee winged and fair,
Thy silence quivers with his breath,
The wind is still and the quiet air
Full, full of the great words he saith.
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