The look of being where the breath is fled!
The unwarming sun still joyous in its light!
A time—a time without a day or night!
Death cradled upon beauty, like a bee
Upon a flower, that looketh lovingly!
Like a wild serpent, coiling in its madness,
Under a wreath of blossom and of gladness!
And there she is; and Julio bends o’er
The sleeping girl—a willow on the shore
Of a Dead Sea! that steepeth its fair bough