An image of cold calm! One tress of hair
Lingereth lonely on her snowy brow;
But the bright eyes are closed in darkness now;
And their long lashes delicately rest
On the pale cheek, like sun-rays in the west,
That fall upon a colourless, sad cloud.
Humility lies rudely on the proud,
But she was never proud; and there she is,
A yet unwither'd flower the autumn breeze
Hath blown from its green stem! 'T is pale, 't is pale,
But still unfaded, like the twilight veil
That falleth after sunset; like a stream
That bears the burden of a silver gleam
Upon its waters; and is even so,--
Chill, melancholy, lustreless, and low!

Beauty in death! a tenderness upon
The rude and silent relics, where alone
Sat the destroyer! Beauty on the dead!
The look of being where the breath is fled!
The unwarming sun still joyous in its light!
A time--a time without a day or night!
Death cradled upon Beauty, like a bee
Upon a flower, that looketh lovingly!--
Like a wild serpent, coiling in its madness,
Under a wreath of blossom and of gladness!

And there she is; and Julio bends o'er
The sleeping girl,--a willow on the shore
Of a Dead Sea! that steepeth its far bough