Book 3 — Triumph.[8]

The dawn came in through the bars of the blind,— And the winter's dawn is gray,— And said, "However you cheat your mind, The hours are flying away." A ghost of a dawn, and pale, and weak,— "Has the sun a heart," I said, "To throw a morning flush on the cheek Whence a fairer flush has fled?" As a gray rose-leaf that is fading white Was the cheek where I set my kiss; And on that side of the bed all night Death had watched, and I on this. I kissed her lips, they were half apart, Yet they made no answering sign; Death's hand was on her failing heart, And his eyes said, "She is mine." I set my lips on the blue-veined lid, Half-veiled by her death-damp hair; And oh, for the violet depths it hid And the light I longed for there! Faint day and the fainter life awoke, And the night was overpast; And I said, "Though never in life you spoke Oh, speak with a look at last!" For the space of a heart-beat fluttered her breath, As a bird's wing spread to flee; She turned her weary arms to Death, And the light of her eyes to me.