VII

Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay,

      He came; and bought, with price of purest breath,

      A grave among the eternal.—Come away!

      Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day

      Is yet his fitting charnel-roof! while still

      He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay;

      Awake him not! surely he takes his fill

Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill.