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Amina.
She saw the ghastly upturned face of earth,
Then dared to look above. A lurid ring
Half circled the dim chalice of the sun
That overflowed with darkness.
Was he dying?—
The royal lover to her madness wedded—
Slain in his chariot as a king in battle—
Or only veiling in capricious anger
The long love-look that woke his bride at morn,
And dwelt on her at noon, and lingered brightly
Round her at eve? She knelt with outstretched arms
Till, shorn of every beam, she saw her monarch
Discrowned, a blind and beggared outcast, grope
His way across the blasted plains of heaven.
Then dared to look above. A lurid ring
Half circled the dim chalice of the sun
That overflowed with darkness.
Was he dying?—
The royal lover to her madness wedded—
Slain in his chariot as a king in battle—
Or only veiling in capricious anger
The long love-look that woke his bride at morn,
And dwelt on her at noon, and lingered brightly
Round her at eve? She knelt with outstretched arms
Till, shorn of every beam, she saw her monarch
Discrowned, a blind and beggared outcast, grope
His way across the blasted plains of heaven.
The wondrous shadow faded—cheerful day
Lit the blithe reapers to their work again.
When sunset came, one, leaning on his scythe,
And following with his eye a hawk's flight upward,
Marked on the moss-capped overhanging rock,
A white prone form, and said, "It is Amina.
She sleeps, and does not wake to say farewell,
Lit the blithe reapers to their work again.
When sunset came, one, leaning on his scythe,
And following with his eye a hawk's flight upward,
Marked on the moss-capped overhanging rock,
A white prone form, and said, "It is Amina.
She sleeps, and does not wake to say farewell,
