HER eyes are brands that keep the angry heat
Of fire that crawls and leaves an ashen
The dust of this devouring flame she hath
Upon her cheeks and eyelids. Fresh and sweet
In days that were, her sultry beauty now
Is pain transfigured, love's impenitence,
The memory of a maiden innocence,
As a crown set upon a weary brow.
She sits, and fain would listen, fain forget;
She smiles, but with those tragic, waiting eyes,
Those proud and piteous lips that hunger yet
For love's fulfilment. Ah, when Landry cries
“My heart is dead!” with what a wild regret
Her own heart feels the throb that never dies!