Which ne’er was loud, became more low;
And the light which flashed through his waxen cheek
Grew faint, as the rose-like hues which flow 1010
From sunset o’er the Alpine snow: 
And death seemed not like death in him,
For the spirit of life o’er every limb
Lingered, a mist of sense and thought. 
When the summer wind faint odours brought 1015
From mountain flowers, even as it passed
His cheek would change, as the noonday sea
Which the dying breeze sweeps fitfully. 
If but a cloud the sky o’ercast,
You might see his colour come and go, 1020
And the softest strain of music made
Sweet smiles, yet sad, arise and fade
Amid the dew of his tender eyes;
And the breath, with intermitting flow,
Made his pale lips quiver and part. 1025
You might hear the beatings of his heart,
Quick, but not strong; and with my tresses
When oft he playfully would bind
In the bowers of mossy lonelinesses
His neck, and win me so to mingle 1030
In the sweet depth of woven caresses,
And our faint limbs were intertwined,
Alas! the unquiet life did tingle
From mine own heart through every vein,
Like a captive in dreams of liberty, 1035
Who beats the walls of his stony cell. 
But his, it seemed already free,
Like the shadow of fire surrounding me! 
On my faint eyes and limbs did dwell
That spirit as it passed, till soon, 1040
As a frail cloud wandering o’er the moon,
Beneath its light invisible,
Is seen when it folds its gray wings again
To alight on midnight’s dusky plain,
I lived and saw, and the gathering soul 1045
Passed from beneath that strong control,
And I fell on a life which was sick with fear
Of all the woe that now I bear.

Amid a bloomless myrtle wood,
On a green and sea-girt promontory, 1050
Not far from where we dwelt, there stood
In record of a sweet sad story,
An altar and a temple bright
Circled by steps, and o’er the gate
Was sculptured, ‘To Fidelity;’ 1055
And in the shrine an image sate,
All veiled:  but there was seen the light
Of smiles which faintly could express
A mingled pain and tenderness
Through that ethereal drapery. 1060
The left hand held the head, the right—­
Beyond the veil, beneath the skin,
You might see the nerves quivering within—­
Was forcing the point of a barbed dart
Into its side-convulsing heart. 1065
An unskilled hand, yet one informed
With genius, had the marble warmed
With that pathetic life.  This tale