Whispering to themselves apart, They who knew her said of her, "Dying of a broken heart -- Death her only comforter -- For the man she loved is dead -- She will follow soon! " they said.
Beautiful? Ah! brush the dust From Raphael's fairest face, And restore it, as it must First have smiled back from its place On his easel as he leant Wrapt in awe and wonderment!
Why, to kiss the very hem Of the mourning-weeds she wore, Like the winds that rustled them, I had gone the round world o'er; And to touch her hand I swear All things dareless I would dare!
But unto themselves apart, Whispering, they said of her, "Dying of a broken heart -- Death her only comforter -- For the man she loved is dead -- She will follow soon! " they said.
So I mutely turned away, Turned with sorrow and despair, Yearning still from day to day For that woman dying there, Till at last, by longing led, I returned to find her -- dead?
"Dead? " -- I know that word would tell Rhyming there -- but in this case "Wed" rhymes equally as well In the very selfsame place -- And, in fact, the latter word Is the one she had preferred.
Yet unto themselves apart, Whisp'ring they had said of her -- "Dying of a broken heart -- Death her only comforter -- For the man she loved is dead -- She will follow soon! " they said.
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