Classic Poem

The flag on Ragnor's tower hung half-mast high
Smote old and young with grief.
A death it told.
They long had watched her wither like a leaf;
Her warm hands too had grown of late so cold.
So young, so fair, so good. Alas! that she should die.

But no! It was her lady mother. She
Full long had seen her child
Slowly decay.
Her father's temper, too, had grown more wild.
She could but pray that ere she passed away,
Rowena's knight would safe return from o'er the sea.

Her mother dead! Her one true guide and friend!
Her heart seemed reft in twain.
Would she had died!
A year at least it meant ere yet again,
She needs must list to suits to be denied.
O death, or Harold, come and let there be an end!