| |
| HIS head within my bosom lay, | |
| But yet his spirit slipped not through: | |
| I only felt the burning clay | |
| That withered for the cooling dew. | |
| |
| It was but pity when I spoke | 5 |
| And called him to my heart for rest, | |
| And half a mother’s love that woke | |
| Feeling his head upon my breast: | |
| |
| And half the lion’s tenderness | |
| To shield her cubs from hurt or death, | 10 |
| Which, when the serried hunters press, | |
| Makes terrible her wounded breath. | |
| |
| But when the lips I breathed upon | |
| Asked for such love as equals claim— | |
| I looked where all the stars were gone | 15 |
| Burned in the day’s immortal flame. | |
| |
| “Come thou like yon great dawn to me | |
| From darkness vanquished, battles done: | |
| Flame unto flame shall flow and be | |
| Within thy heart and mine as one. | 20 |
| |
