Page:Poems (IA poemslowell00lowe).pdf/109

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Rosaline.
91
Why did I fear to let thee stayTo look on me and pass awayForgivingly, as in its MayA broken flower, Rosaline?
I thought not, when my dagger strook,Of thy blue eyes: I could not brookThe past all pleading in one lookOf utter sorrow, Rosaline!I did not know when thou wast dead;A blackbird whistling overheadThrilled through my brain; I would have fled,But dared not leave thee, Rosaline!
A low, low moan, a light twig stirredBy the upspringing of a bird,A drip of blood, were all I heard,—Then deathly stillness, Rosaline!The sun rolled down, and very soon,Like a great fire, the awful moonRose, stained with blood, and then a swoonCrept chilly o'er me, Rosaline
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