Its faint stars fading from a solemn sky,
Where mighty clouds before the dawn grew red:
Were these things round me? Such o’er memory sweep
Wildly, when aught brings back that burial of the deep.
LIX.
Then the broad, lonely sunrise!—and the plash
Into the sounding waves![305] Around her head
They parted, with a glancing moment’s flash,
Then shut—and all was still. And now thy bed
Is of their secrets, gentlest Leonor!