LII

Then in a silken scarf,—sweet with the dews

      Of precious flowers pluck'd in Araby,

And divine liquids come with odorous ooze

      Through the cold serpent-pipe refreshfully,—

She wrapp'd it up; and for its tomb did choose

      A garden-pot, wherein she laid it by,

And cover'd it with mould, and o'er it set

Sweet Basil, which her tears kept ever wet.