VI

Maura lies dead at last,

The body she gave to child and lover

Now feeds flower and tree.

Earth's arms are wide to her. What breast

Offers such gentle sleeping?

Her limbs lie peacefully.

From the dark West

There comes a note like the echoing cry

Of one who rides through the dusk alone

After the hunt sweeps by.

It fades — the night wind is forlorn —

Music is still,

But Maura has followed the silver horn

Over the distant hill,

Over the hill where all winds die.