On Severn's Last Sketch of Keats
Angel of Sleep or Death! What hast thou here,
With meek head drooped, all haggard and outworn!
So looked Leander, to the startled morn,
Left by the tide on sands and rushes sere;
And so looked Hyacinth, to Phaebus dear,
As on the sward he lay, by envy shorn;
So looked Rome's martyr youth to burial borne
Within some delved cavern, chill and drear.
O fair death-sleeper! gazing on thee now,
Forgetting all thy years profound of rest
In peaceful barrow by the daisy drest,
We keep a vigil, — by thy pillow bow,
And listen, smiling through our tears, when thou
Murmurest of flowers that spring above thy breast.
With meek head drooped, all haggard and outworn!
So looked Leander, to the startled morn,
Left by the tide on sands and rushes sere;
And so looked Hyacinth, to Phaebus dear,
As on the sward he lay, by envy shorn;
So looked Rome's martyr youth to burial borne
Within some delved cavern, chill and drear.
O fair death-sleeper! gazing on thee now,
Forgetting all thy years profound of rest
In peaceful barrow by the daisy drest,
We keep a vigil, — by thy pillow bow,
And listen, smiling through our tears, when thou
Murmurest of flowers that spring above thy breast.
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