Page:Troubadour.pdf/146

    I flung me on my steed again,
    I urged him with the spur and rein,—
    I left him at the usual tree,
    But left him there at liberty.

        With madd'ning step I sought the place,
    I raised the mantle from her face,
    And knelt me down beside, to gaze
    On all the mockery death displays,
    Until it seem'd but sleep to me.
    Death,—oh, no! death it could not be.

        The cold grey light the dawn had shed,
    Changed gradual into melting red;
    I watch'd the morning colour streak
    With crimson dye her marble cheek;