Long summer nights in vast Assyria’s town,
At white-walled Athens, in imperial Rome,
Or midst dim Northern forests, by the foam
Of seas unsailed ere Arthur won renown.
Moonlight and leafshade—nights full sweet and long:
“O Love, my love, how white thy breast! Thy kiss
Upon my mouth, how mad!”—“And thou, how strong
Thine arms! I fear thy passion!”—“Tell me, must
Not Time and Death bow down to love like this?...”
Now, even their graves are crumbled into dust.