Last Verses. Susan Coolidge
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Church averted her stern face,
The royal pair grew weary of the load
Of unrepented sin and long disgrace,
And bought a peace from late relenting Rome.
Two stately abbeys built they, and endowed,
With carven pinnacle and tower and dome,
And soaring spire and bell-chimes pealing loud.
Within the crypt of one they buried her,
True wife and queen, when her time came to die;
And when strong death conquered the Conqueror,
He slept beneath the other’s altar high.
Was it of love’s devising that to-day,
With all the wide-grown city space to bar,
Across the roofs and towers from far away
St. Etienne looks upon La Trinita?
Was it some subtle prescience of the heart,
Which laid on time and change resistless spell,
Forbidding both to hide or hold apart
The resting-place of those who loved so well?
For still defying distance, day and night
The spires like beckoning fingers seem to rise,
The bells to call, as perished voices might,
“Love is not dead, Beloved; love never dies!”
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