Oh, pitiful awaking! What was Adrian's pleasure, That it had earned for him such bitterness? What his soul's pride that its new tender measure Should find its echo in a dirge like this? The chaunters chaunting slow were sable priests Robed for a requiem; the laughters clear, Women that wept; the untasted marriage feasts, Death's banquet spread, and she upon the bier, Natalia's self in her white robe of death, Mourned by the hard eyes of unfriendly men, And with them he, her husband, with set teeth And visage pale which ne'er should smile again In any welcome. Adrian neither moved Nor spoke, but gazed upon the form he loved. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN OLD WOMAN OF THE ROADS by PADRAIC COLUM ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE [OUT OF NORFOLK] by WILLIAM COWPER AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE (1889) by CAROLINE KING DUER TO THE NIGHTINGALE by ANNE FINCH MR. FLOOD'S PARTY by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE INDIAN UPON GOD by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |