" The scent of melancholy lingers in her presence, the poignant perfume of her soul; It saturates her pillows, her sleeves, her diary with woeful dew and careless red. Her head drowns in sweet paradise but with her gravity centred on mortal earth. Sorrow cleansed that innocent being, and had her noble gaze gleamed with a dangerous spite for all. But still with a trace of anguish left she crumbled like wilted white lily petals in ignominy; Her marble sculpture of timelessness beauty frozen in ordeal and tragedy, A tear-like ruby on her horror-stricken pale face. "
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