III.

Nay, then!--So reign, Elizabeth,

Crowned, in thy May-day realm of death!

Put forth the scepter of thy love

In every star-tipped blossom of

The grassy dais of thy throne!

Sadder are we, thus left alone,

But gladder they that thrill to see

Thy mother's rapture, greeting thee.

Bereaved are we by life--not death--

Elizabeth! Elizabeth!

Green Fields and Running Brooks, and Other Poems · 第 101 / 151 题