Question

Strew on her roses, roses,

And never a spray of yew!

In quiet she reposes

Ah, would that I did too.

Her mirth the world required;

She bathed it in smiIes at gle

But her heart was tired, tired,

And now they let her be

Her life was tarning, turning,

In mazes of heat and Sound

But for peace her soul was learning,

Her cabined, ample, spirit,

It fluttered and failed for breath

Tonight it doth inherti

The vast hall of death.

Questions

49. How does the poet feel at the woman's death​

Answer 1

Answer:

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