Page:Pictures In Rhyme.djvu/22



seeking what the distance never brought, Strained through a lattice-window finely wrought— Sweet-smelling veil of woven cedar-wood. Where the white pigeons lit, and softly cooed, Ere fluttering down to their accustomed food In the broad, marble, many-creviced court.

The brook of Kishon slowly reddening; The trailing chariot, and the bitter ring Of intercepted, swift-descending swords. The panting fugitive. The lying words, 'Turn in; behold this tent, it is my lord's!' The cloak of camel's hair for safe shrouding.