Going to die! For who shall waste in sadness, So, in a little, when those Two had parted,— “Ah, the poor child !” the neighbours cry of her, Just for a second, say, the tidings shocked him, Then, he forgot her. But, for you that slew her, Be the sky silent, be the sea serene ; As for Rosina,-for the quiet sleeper, Whether stone hides her, or the happy grass, If the sun quickens, if the dews beweep her, Laid in the Madeleine or Montparnasse, Nothing we know,-but that her heart is cold, Poor beating heart! And so the story's told. |