THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. Still, for all slips of hers, Wipe those poor lips of hers Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home? Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other? Alas! for the rarity O! it was pitiful! Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly Feelings had changed: Love, by harsh evidence, Thrown from its eminence; Even God's providence Where the lamps quiver AFTER DEATH. 113 AFTER DEATH. THE curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept And could not hear him; but I heard him say: Christina Rossetti. Modern Poets. 8 |