Sister of his own, till her rays fell wide.
God! of whom music
And song and blood are pure,
The day is never darkened
That had thee here obscure.
II.
Chirping none the scarlet cicalas crouched in ranks:
Slack the thistle-head piled its down-silk gray:
Scarce the stony lizard sucked hollows in his flanks:
Thick on spots of umbrage our drowsed flocks lay.