Like the pale sleeper's pulse before he died.
Reach me that water-lily floating near;
Its sullen roots give way with dull regret,
And now it lies across your fingers, dear,
Long, glistening in the sunlight, green and wet.
See the gold heart emerging from the dew,
Folded in petals of the purest white!
Look! through this stem in silent hours it drew
Its fragrance from deep waters out of sight,
And found among the river oozes cold,