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There lay he as Endymion slept When Dian came to him, and wept Beside the sleep she might not break. Love, thus we sorrow for thy sake. There lay he:—well might seem The being of a poet's dream. Ay, beautiful as a star in the sky, When the clouds are gloom, and the storm is high, But still in defiance keeps shining on, Till the shades are past, and the wind is done. His hair was gold, like the pheasant's wing, And curl'd like the hyacinth flower in spring; And his eye was that blue so clear, so dark, Like the falcon's when flying his highest mark. And telling a tale of gallant war, On his brow was a slight but glorious scar.