Her face was all too bright for tears, she gave Sighs to the wind, and weeping to the wave, And left a lesson unto after-times, Too little dwelt upon… - Letitia Elizabeth Landon

He painted till the lamps grew dim, his hand
Scarce conscious what it wrought; at length his lids
Closed in a heavy slumber, and he dream'd
That a fair creature came and kissed his brow,
And bade him follow her: he knew the look,
And rose. Awakening, he found himself
Kneeling before the portrait:—'twas so fair
He deemed it lived, and press'd his burning lips
To the sweet mouth; his soul pass'd in that kiss,—
Young Guido died beside his masterpiece!

Fame to a woman is indeed but a royal mourning in purple for happiness.

To hide the wells from the beam of the sun,
She took the webs of silvery white
Herself had wove in the lone moonlight,
And threw them o'er, so that not one ray
Could lighten their depths with a glimpse of day;