I would resign the words of praise which now Make my cheek crimson and my pulses beat. Could I but deem that when my heart is cold And my lip passion… - Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Let music make less terrible
The silence of the dead;
I care not, so my spirit last
Long after life has fled.

What was our parting ?—one wild kiss,
How wild I may not say,
One long and breathless clasp, and then
As life were past away.

She was tall beyond the ordinary height of woman, but stately in her grace as the ideal of a queen and the reality of a swan. Her arms and feet were bare, but for the gems which encircled them. A white robe swept around her in folds gathered at the waist by a golden girdle inscribed with signs and characters. Her hair was singularly thick, and of that purple blackness seen on the grape and the neck of the raven — black, with a sort of azure bloom upon it. It was fastened in large folds, which went several times round the head, and these were adorned with jewels and precious stones, like a midnight lighted with stars. Her complexion was a pale pure olive, perfectly colourless, but delicate as that of a child. Her mouth was the only spot where the rose held dominion, and lips of richer crimson never opened to the morning.