Alfred Lord Tennyson The Dead Prophet She tumbled his helpless corpse about A small blemish upon the skin But I think we know what is fair without Is often as foul within She crouch d She tore him part from part And out of the body She drew The red Blood eagle of liver and heart She held them up to the view She gabbled as She groped in the dead And all the people were pleased See what a little heart she said And the liver is half diseased