As a queenly daffodil in the springtide of its bloom,
Falls, whelmed beneath the plough-share, and wondering at its doom;
Or as a scarlet poppy, laying weary neck on earth,
Yields its breath to the full shower it welcomed at its birth;
So, all too fair to die, star of a life, Euryalus
Left for Nisus nought but despair, with dire revenge; and thus
Sank Pallas, young and brave;—as, under a girl’s heedless feet,
Drop violets, soft and shy, or hyacinths, faint and sweet,
Appealing from Fate to Heav’n, with all of their grace and sheen,
Telling—the more that life has fled—of what its charms have been;
Or as Babe on its Mother’s breast, who cannot, will not, think
Rosy lips half open are cold, and presses them to drink.