She knelt down in her agony:
'O Lord, it is enough,' said she:
'My heart's prayer putteth me to shame;
Let me return to whence I came. 250
Thou for who love's sake didst reprove,
Forgive me for the sake of love.'
SIT DOWN IN THE LOWEST ROOM
(_Macmillan's Magazine_, March 1864.)
Like flowers sequestered from the sun
And wind of summer, day by day
I dwindled paler, whilst my hair
Showed the first tinge of grey.
'Oh what is life, that we should live?
Or what is death, that we must die?
A bursting bubble is our life:
I also, what am I?'
'What is your grief? now tell me, sweet,
That I may grieve,' my sister said; 10
And stayed a white embroidering hand
And raised a golden head:
Her tresses showed a richer mass,
Her eyes looked softer than my own,
Her figure had a statelier height,
Her voice a tenderer tone.
'Some must be second and not first;
All cannot be the first of all:
Is not this, too, but vanity?
I stumble like to fall. 20
'So yesterday I read the acts
Of Hector and each clangorous king
With wrathful great Aeacides:--
Old Homer leaves a sting.
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