Next came, like the sweet air of June,
A treacherous calm suspense
That bred a loathly sense,
Some nameless ill would overwhelm us soon.

She passed like summer flowers away.
Her aspect and her voice
Will never more rejoice,
For she lies hushed in cold decay.
Broken the golden bowl
Which held her hallowed soul:
It was an idle boast to say
"Our souls are as the same,"
And stings me now to shame:
Her spirit went, and mine did not obey.

The black truth, with a fiery dart,
Went hurtling through my thought,
When I beheld her brought
Whence she with life did not depart.
Her beauty by degrees
Sank, sharpened from disease:
The heavy sinking at her heart
Sucked hollows in her cheek,
And made her eyelids weak,
Though oft they opened wide with sudden start.

The Deathly Power in silence drew
My Lady's life away.
I watched, dumb for dismay,