Richard Burton

Weighed down by grief, o'erborne by deep despair,
She lifted up white arms to heaven and prayed
That day for death; she made a mighty prayer
Beside her dear one gently to be laid.

And standing thus, it flashed across her mind
How she must make a seemly silhouette
Against the sky, her figure sharply lined
Upon the westering sunlight, black as jet.

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