Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/216

 THOU who giving helm and sword,
 * Gav'st, too, the rusting rain,

And starry dark's all tender dews
 * To blunt and stain:

Out of the battle I am sped,
 * Unharmed, yet stricken sore;

A living shape amid whispering shades
 * On Lethe's shore.

No trophy in my hands I bring,
 * To this sad, sighing stream,

The neighings and the trumps and cries
 * Were but a dream.

Traitor to life, of life betrayed:
 * O, of thy mercy deep,

A dream my all, the all I ask
 * Is sleep.