58
Delayed till she had ceased to know –
Delayed till in its vest of snow
Her loving bosom lay –
An hour behind the fleeting breath –
Later by just an hour than Death –
Oh lagging Yesterday!
Could she have guessed that it would be –
Could but a crier of the joy
Have climbed the distant hill –
Had not the bliss so slow a pace
Who knows but this surrendered face
Were undefeated still?
Oh if there may departing be
Any forgot by Victory
In her imperial round –
Show them this meek appareled thing
That could not stop to be a king –
Doubtful if it be crowned!
