She lay before me thin and pale Like a haloed saint in a manuscript. "I am so tired, I feel so frail", And still the body refused to fail In a room as cold as a stone carved crypt,
A room lit solely by her smile That filled its crevices with gold She looked on me a longer while, One who knew not hate nor guile And slowly her sweet limbs grew cold.
At the end I read from Savitri, Unable to contain the tears. As the rose is of eternity So too her soul shall stay with me Undaunted by the distant years.
Poems Undated (1727)
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