Paris
[ JANUARY , 1871.]
Speak ! Dying, that never can be dead!
Speak! O wounded, and wan, and wasted!
" Blood is better than wine, " she said —
" Famine the sweetest food I have tasted.
" Pallor is brighter than bloom, and scars
Than my old jewels have made me fairer.
When the Vapor put out my lamps, the stars
Gave me a surer light and a rarer.
" My flowers were false, my glory was shame,
My Life was Death, in my years of pleasure.
Divine from my sorrow my Beauty came —
Safe in my ashes shall shine my treasure. "
Speak ! Dying, that never can be dead!
Speak! O wounded, and wan, and wasted!
" Blood is better than wine, " she said —
" Famine the sweetest food I have tasted.
" Pallor is brighter than bloom, and scars
Than my old jewels have made me fairer.
When the Vapor put out my lamps, the stars
Gave me a surer light and a rarer.
" My flowers were false, my glory was shame,
My Life was Death, in my years of pleasure.
Divine from my sorrow my Beauty came —
Safe in my ashes shall shine my treasure. "
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