And, feeling round him, lo, upon the mould <br />A pick and spade cast down by accident. <br />And Adrian laughed when in those engines cold <br />He guessed the furtherers of his heart's intent. <br />And all night through he wrought with them in rage, <br />As miners do who know the prize at hand. <br />Blest Adrian! Now thy lips thou shalt engage <br />In the full solace thy long love has planned. <br />Her face is near thee. Speed thee on thy task. <br />Her breast's fair purity is thine to kiss. <br />She shall not now deny though thou shouldst ask <br />Her whole soul's prize in ransom of thy bliss. <br />Thrice happy Adrian! See, thy hands have slid <br />Trembling on thy Natalia's coffin lid.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/natalia-s-resurrection-sonnet-xxiv/
