When, the watch ended, soon his eyes are sealed
By Heaven’s physician, sleep, and all his sorrows healed.
XX.
Berméo’s vines of green most tender send
Black clusters soft with purple bloom bespread;
And where her gnarled and twisted fig-trees bend
’Neath load of luscious fruit their dark green head,
The gathered treasure for a feast is shed.
The quince sweet-flavoured, and the juicy gourd,
The beautiful love-apple coral-red,