58

Delayed till she had ceased to know
Delayed till in its vest of snow
Her loving bosom lay
An hour behind the fleeting breath
Later by just an hour than Death
Oh lagging Yesterday!

Could she have guessed that it would be
Could but a crier of the joy
Have climbed the distant hill
Had not the bliss so slow a pace
Who knows but this surrendered face
Were undefeated still?

Oh if there may departing be
Any forgot by Victory
In her imperial round
Show them this meek appareled thing
That could not stop to be a king
Doubtful if it be crowned!