And wan sweet women, dear and dead;
Beside a marble queen, my bed
Is made within the sepulchre.
In gardens desolate to the sun,
Faring alone, I sigh to find
The dusty closes, dim and blind,
Where winter and the spring are one.
My shadowy visage, grey with grief,
In sunken waters walled with sand,
I see,—where all mine ancient land