IX.

In a lonesome burial-place Crouched a mourner white of face; Wild her eyes—unheeding Circling pomp of night and day— Ever crying, "Well away, Love lies a-bleeding!"

And her sighs were like a knell, And her tears for ever fell, With their warm rain feeding That purpureal flower, alas! Trailing prostrate in the grass, Love lies a-bleeding!"

Through the yews' black-tufted gloom Crimson light dripped on the tomb, Funeral shadows breeding: In the sky the sun's light shed Dyed the earth one awful red— Love lies a-bleeding!"

Came grey mists, and blanching cloud Bore one universal shroud; Came the bowed moon leading, From the infinite afar Star that rumoured unto star— Love lies a-bleeding!"