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Her raven tresses streaming o'er the floor
And her dark glassy eye fixed on the dead.
And her dark glassy eye fixed on the dead.
O! 't was indeed a sadly touching sight,
For her white hand lay pressed upon her heart,
As if to quell within the spirit's might,
And her cold purple lips were half apart:
They raised her from the spot where she had knelt
In the meek attitude of holy prayer,
And with the nicest touch her bosom felt,
Seeking for life and warmth—but death was there!
For her white hand lay pressed upon her heart,
As if to quell within the spirit's might,
And her cold purple lips were half apart:
They raised her from the spot where she had knelt
In the meek attitude of holy prayer,
And with the nicest touch her bosom felt,
Seeking for life and warmth—but death was there!
