For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes;
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

"Avaunt! avaunt! from friends below, the indignant ghost is riven-- 20
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven--
From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of Heaven!
Let no bell toll, then,--lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damned Earth!
And I!--to-night my heart is light!--No dirge will I upraise, 25
But waft the angel on her flight with a Paean of old days."



THE VALLEY OF UNREST


Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers, 5
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sunlight lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley's restlessness. 10
Nothing there is motionless,
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.