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!
This poem is passionate and beautiful. The words flow on my tongue like water in a river.