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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet XX
Work rating: Low

Oh, pitiful awaking! What was Adrian`s pleasure,
 That it had earned for him such bitterness?
 What his soul`s pride that its new tender measure
 Should find its echo in a dirge like this?
 The chaunters chaunting slow were sable priests
 Robed for a requiem; the laughters clear,
 Women that wept; the untasted marriage feasts,
 Death`s banquet spread, and she upon the bier,
 Natalia`s self in her white robe of death,
 Mourned by the hard eyes of unfriendly men,
 And with them he, her husband, with set teeth
 And visage pale which ne`er should smile again
 In any welcome. Adrian neither moved
 Nor spoke, but gazed upon the form he loved.
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