Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/284



shouldst be look'd on when the starlight falls Through the blue stillness of the summer-air, Not by the torch-fire wavering on the walls; It hath too fitful and too wild a glare! And thou!—thy rest, the soft, the lovely, seems To ask light steps, that will not break its dreams.

Flowers are upon thy brow; for so the dead Were crown'd of old, with pale spring-flowers like these: Sleep on thine eye hath sunk; yet softly shed As from the wing of some faint southern breeze: And the pine-boughs o'ershadow thee with gloom Which of the grove seems breathing—not the tomb.