INEZ.
281
"This is what I prayed might be—
"Has death not sealed my truth to thee!"...
A cypress springs by yonder grave,
And music from the fountain wave
Sings its low dirge to the pale rose
That, near, in lonely beauty blows.
Two lovers sleep beneath. Oh, sweet,
Even in the grave, it is to meet;
Sweet even the death-couch of stone,
When shared with some beloved one;
And sweeter than life the silent rest
Of Inez on her Juan's breast.
