A cold snake gnaws my heart And crushes round my brain, And I should glory but to part So bitterly again, Feeling the slow tears start And fall in fiery rain: There's a wide ring round the moon, The ghost-like clouds glide by, And I hear the sad winds croon A dirge to the lowering sky; There's nothing soft or mild In the pale moon's sickly light, But all looks strange and wild Through the dim, foreboding night: I think thou must be dead In some dark and lonely place, With candles at thy head, And a pall above thee spread To hide thy dead, cold face; But I can see thee underneath So pale, and still, and fair, Thine eyes closed smoothly and a wreath Of flowers in thy hair; I never saw thy face so clear When thou wast with the living, As now beneath the pall, so drear, And stiff, and unforgiving; I cannot flee thee, Marian, I cannot turn away, Mine eyes must see thee, Marian, Through salt tears night and day. A DIRGE. Poet! lonely is thy bed, And the turf is overhead-- Cold earth is thy cover; But thy heart hath found release, And it slumbers full of peace 'Neath the rustle of green trees And the warm hum of the bees, Mid the drowsy clover; Through thy chamber, still as death, A smooth gurgle wandereth, As the blue stream murmureth To the blue sky over. Three paces from the silver strand, Gently in the fine, white sand, With a lily in thy hand, Pale as snow, they laid thee; In no coarse earth wast thou hid, And no gloomy coffin-lid Darkly overweighed thee. Silently as snow-flakes drift, The smooth sand did sift and sift O'er the bed they made thee; All sweet birds did come and sing At thy sunny burying-- Choristers unbidden, And, beloved of sun and dew, Meek forget-me-nots upgrew Where thine eyes so large and blue 'Neath the turf were hidden. Where thy stainless clay doth lie, Blue and open is the sky, And the white clouds wander by, Dreams of summer silently Darkening the river; Thou hearest the clear water run; And the ripples every one, Scattering the golden sun, Through thy silence quiver; Vines trail down upon the stream, Into its smooth and glassy dream A green stillness spreading, And the shiner, perch, and bream Through the shadowed waters gleam 'Gainst the current heading. White as snow, thy winding sheet Shelters thee from head to feet, Save thy pale face only; Thy face is turned toward the skies, The lids lie meekly o'er thine eyes, And the low-voiced pine-tree sighs O'er thy bed so lonely. All thy life thou lov'dst its shade: Underneath it thou art laid, In an endless shelter; Thou hearest it forever sigh As the wind's vague longings die In its branches dim and high-- Thou hear'st the waters gliding by Slumberously welter.