Explore "The Path of Roses" by Lewis Carroll on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
/ In the dark silence of an ancient room, / Whose one tall window fronted to the West, / Where, through laced tendrils of a hanging vine, / The sunset-glow was fading into night, / Sat a pale Lady, resting weary hands / Upon a great clasped volume, and her face / Within her hands. Not as in rest she bowed, / But large hot tears were coursing down her cheek, / And her low-panted sobs broke awefully / Upon the sleeping echoes of the night. / Soon she unclasp'd the volume once again, / And read the words in tone of agony, / As in self-torture, weeping as she read: --
/ _"He crowns the glory of his race: / He prayeth but in some fit place / To meet his foeman face to face: