Does the dawn lighten? Nay, I thought the stars
Grew paler, but a mist was on mine eyes.
So long are these few hours I have to live,
Ere death come: yet it seems a little while
To those who smell the odorous warm earth,
Steaming in heat, and have the cattle’s breath,
And scent of bean-fields wafted, and the choir
Of birds, and distant bleating of the sheep,
Coming from some dew-laden mountain-slope
Of pasture o’er the corn-lands: those, who look