Explore "Sweet Hours" by Carmen Sylva on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Be still! A corpse lies there, a poor dead thing, / With upturned face, white-lipped, the haggard features, / Whereon once played a smile that gladdened hearts, / Now set and cold. Circled with black and sunken / Are now the eyes where stars were wont to sparkle, / And Fate has drawn deep lines between the brows, / That but a short time since seemed arched for mischief, / And full of childish mirth. Close to the temples / The hair clings straight and dull and colourless.
And it was golden once, like living rays, / And waved about the head, a sunrise-halo! / The hands are folded -- rigid, waxen, cold, / They that were once like rose-leaves, in whose veins / The blood coursed swiftly, full of generous warmth / And loving gifts, and flowers, and balm for sorrow.