Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867.
II. A Grave in a ConventWilliam Lisle Bowles (17621850)
I
(His bosom glowing from majestic views,
The gorgeous dome, or the proud landscape’s hues)
Should ask who sleeps beneath this lowly bed,—
’T is poor Matilda!—To the cloistered scene,
A mourner, beauteous and unknown, she came,
To shed her tears unmarked, and quench the flame
Of fruitless love: yet was her look serene
As the pale moonlight in the midnight aisle;
Her voice was soft, which yet a charm could lend,
Like that which spoke of a departed friend,
And a meek sadness sat upon her smile!—
Now, far removed from every earthly ill,
Her woes are buried, and her heart is still.