But where he fared and how, it matters not. <br />He and his mourning ere a month had run <br />Were out of mind with all and clean forgot, <br />Kinsman and friend and foe: save only one, <br />Only Natalia. She with tightened breath <br />Heard his name spoken in reproof's vain way <br />And gave her melancholy soul to death. <br />Foolish Natalia, who in love's full day <br />Had spent her grief, had nothing now to give <br />Of greater woe to her soul's agonies. <br />Living she yet had hardly dared to live. <br />She had wept dry the fountains of her eyes, <br />And never on her sorrow broke a gleam <br />Of that assuagement tears on others stream.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/natalia-s-resurrection-sonnet-vii/
