LXVIII.

Yet she betrayed at times a gleam of sense;

Nothing could make her meet her Father's face,

Though on all other things with looks intense

She gazed, but none she ever could retrace;

Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence

Availed for either; neither change of place,

Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her

Senses to sleep—the power seemed gone for ever.

Share on Twitter Share on Facebook