Yes , in her eye there lived until the last,
A strange, unreal light, — a fearful glance,
Wild, yet most beautiful; — and o'er her cheek
Hues of such passing loveliness would stray,
As seemed not of this earth; but rather caught
Like the electric beams that dart across
The roseate clouds of Summer's softest eve —
From the high Heaven above! Upon her lip
Hung " bland persuasion" eloquently mute;
And, in her very silentness there dwelt
Music's best half, — expression! She had borne,
With an untiring spirit, many a grief;
And sickness, that had wasted her fine form,
Had tainted not her soul, for that was pure
As the last tear which Pity draws from Love.