Prepared to take her dying flame.
In midst and centre of this plot,
I saw one grovelling on the grass;
A man or stone, I knew not what.
No stone; of man, the figure was.
And yet I could not count him one,
More than the image made of stone.
At length I might perceive him rear
His body on his elbows' end:
Earthly and pale with ghastly cheer,