to princess beatrice.
27
To H. R. H. Princess Beatrice, on the Death of Prince Henry of Battenberg.
Dear daughter of our land,
Sorrow's dark, heavy hand
Has crushed thee down,
And bade thy pale lips sup
From out her bitterest cup;
And set the crown—
Sorrow's dark, heavy hand
Has crushed thee down,
And bade thy pale lips sup
From out her bitterest cup;
And set the crown—
The widow's crown—upon
Thy brow, beloved one,
Wrenching apart
The bonds that love had bound
With fond affection round
About thy heart.
Thy brow, beloved one,
Wrenching apart
The bonds that love had bound
With fond affection round
About thy heart.
Dear daughter of our land,
We mothers understand
Thy sore distress;
And so we offer thee
Our loving sympathy,
With tenderness.
We mothers understand
Thy sore distress;
And so we offer thee
Our loving sympathy,
With tenderness.
