THE HOUSE OF DEATH.
41
With lilies on brow and bosom,
With robes of silken sheen,
And her wonderful frozen beauty
The lilies and silk between.
With robes of silken sheen,
And her wonderful frozen beauty
The lilies and silk between.
Red roses she left behind her,
But they died long, long ago,—
'Twas the odorous ghost of a blossom
That seemed through the dusk to glory.
But they died long, long ago,—
'Twas the odorous ghost of a blossom
That seemed through the dusk to glory.
The garments she left mock the shadows
With hints of womanly grace,
And her image swims in the mirror
That was so used to her face.
With hints of womanly grace,
And her image swims in the mirror
That was so used to her face.
The birds make insolent music
Where the sunshine riots outside;
And the winds are merry and wanton,
With the Summer's pomp and pride.
Where the sunshine riots outside;
And the winds are merry and wanton,
With the Summer's pomp and pride.
