Borne down and perishing by noontide’s kiss?
Yet shall I fear that lot—the perfect rest,
The full deep joy of dying on thy breast,
After long suffering won? So rich a close
Too seldom crowns with peace affection’s woes.
V.
Sunset! I tell each moment. From the skies
The last red splendour floats along my wall,
Like a king’s banner! Now it melts, it dies!
I see one star—I hear—’twas not the call,