Delayed till she had ceased to know
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DELAYED till she had ceased to know,
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Delayed till in its vest of snow
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Her loving bosom lay.
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An hour behind the fleeting breath,
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Later by just an hour than death,—
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Oh, lagging yesterday!
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Could she have guessed that it would be;
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Could but a crier of the glee
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Have climbed the distant hill;
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Had not the bliss so slow a pace,—
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Who knows but this surrendered face
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Were undefeated still?
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Oh, if there may departing be
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Any forgot by victory
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In her imperial round,
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Show them this meek apparelled thing,
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That could not stop to be a king,
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Doubtful if it be crowned!