Talfourd
The widow of the moment fix her gaze
Of longing, speechless love upon her babe,
The only living thing which yet was hers,
Spreading its arms for its own resting-place,
Yet with attenuated hand wave off
The unstricken child, and so embraceless die,
Stifling the mighty hunger of the heart.
Ion.
She scarcely raised
Her head, until her work—a bridal robe—
Hung dazzling on her arm; as then she sought
Her chamber, I impressed one solemn kiss
Upon her icy brow: then, as aroused
From stupor by poor sympathy, she threw
Her arms around my neck; and, whispering low,
But piercingly, conjured me to keep watch
Upon her thinkings, lest one erring wish
Should rise to mar her duty to her lord.
Glencoe.