Was half so still as I, who gauntly stole
Behind him, humped and stooping; and his heart
Clove to the center, stabbing from behind,
Thrice thro' his tattered tunic, murrey-dyed.
Forward he fell, his old face 'mid his gold,
Grayer and thinner than the moon of morn,
While slow the blood dripped, oozing through the cloth,
Black, and thick-clotting round the oblong wounds.
Great pearls of Oman, whiter than the moon;
Rubies of Badakhshân, whose bezels wept