Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet Xx

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.