With the fragrance of lilies to perfume its dream?
The love of that mutton for Mary was more
Like the nightingale’s song by the swift Bendemeer
Which born in the grove, seeks a grave on the shore
As laughter or music is drowned in a tear.
Thomas Moore.
I saw that lamb rise from the hallowed ground
That emperors have kissed as they resigned their rule;
I saw him rise like Venice rise and straddle round,
There where the wraith of Time prowls like a ghoul