It was high noontide when I woke again,
  To hear fierce voices wrangling by my bed,—
  My father's and my husband's; for, with dawn,
  Gathering up valor, they had sought the tomb,
  Had found me gone, and tracked my bleeding feet
  Over the pavement to Antonio's door.
  Dead, they cared nothing: living, I was, theirs.
  Hot raged the quarrel; then came Justice in,
  And to the court we swept—I in my shroud—
  To try the cause.

             This was the verdict given:
  "A woman who has been to burial borne,
  Made fast and left and locked in with the dead;
  Who at her husband's door has stood and plead
  For entrance, and has heard her prayer denied;
  Who from her father's house is urged and chased,
  Must be adjudged as dead in law and fact.

  The Court pronounces the defendant—dead!
  She can resume her former ties at will,
  Or may renounce them, if such be her will.
  She is no more a daughter, or a spouse,
  Unless she choose, and is set free to form
  New ties, if so she choose."

                           O, blessed words!
  That very day we knelt before the priest,