SELECTIONS IN ENGLISH POETRY
And to the silence made a gentle moan,
Spreading her perfect arms upon the air,
And on her couch low murmuring, 'Where? O where?1 240
XXXI
But Selfishness, Love's cousin, held not long
Its fiery vigil in her single breast;
She fretted for the golden hour, and hung
Upon the time with feverish unrest—
Not long; for soon into her heart a throng 245
Of higher occupants, a richer zest,
Came tragic; passion not to be subdued,
And sorrow for her love in travels rude.
XXXII
In the mid days of autumn, on their eves
The breath of Winter conies from far away, 250
And the sick west continually bereaves
Of some gold tinge, and plays a roundelay
Of death among.the bushes and the leaves,
To make all bare before he dares to stray
From his north cavern. So sweet Isabel 255
By gradual decay from beauty fell.
XXXIII
Because Lorenzo came not. Oftentimes
She asked her brothers, with an eye all pale,
Striving to be itself, what dungeon climes
Could keep him off so long ? They spake a tale •
Time after time, to quiet her. Their crimes
Came on them, like a smoke from Hinnom's vale;
And every night in dreams they groaned aloud,
To^see their sister in her snowy shroud.
140