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In days far off, and with what other eyes

I used to watch-if I be he that watch'd

The lucid outline forming round thee; saw
The dim curls kindle into sunny rings;

Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood
Glow with the glow that slowly crimson'd all
Thy presence and thy portals, while I lay,
Mouth, forehead, eyelids, growing dewy-warm
With kisses balmier than half-opening buds
Of April, and could hear the lips that kiss'd
Whispering I knew not what of wild and sweet,
Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing,
While Ilion like a mist rose into towers.

Yet hold me not for ever in thine East:
How can my nature longer mix with thine?
Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold
Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet
Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam
Floats up from those dim fields about the homes
Of happy men that have the power to die,

ille ego si spiro, quam non hoc corde tuebar gliscere te cingens iubar et pallentis apricos stare comis cirros miramque subire videbar

te subeunte vicem, penitus magis ossa calescens quo portae magis et rubor ardescebat obortae! at tua labra mihi crebrum irrorantia nectar

os frontemque dabant resupino et lumina circum oscula quis vernae non germina suavius halant semireducta rosae; nec secius oscula figens nescio quid clementis inexpertique canebas. crescere sic Phoebi plusquam mortale recordor carmen, at in turres nebulosam assurgere Troiam.

ne tamen aeternum his claustris orientis in aevom saepiar an leti fruar immortalibus heres

amplius? en roseis involvor frigidus umbris, frigida candescunt tua limina, friget eoum sub pede rugato limen, cum mane vapores submittunt procul obscuro cingentia tractu

arva domos hominum, quis posse perire beatis

And grassy barrows of the happier dead.
Release me, and restore me to the ground;
Thou seest all things, thou wilt see my grave:
Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn;
I earth in earth forget these empty courts,
And thee returning on thy silver wheels.

TENNYSON.

contigit aut fato caespes potiore sepultis.

da moriar, da reddar humo: tu cetera lustras, tu senis agnosces tumulum: reparabis honorem tu, dea, quot redeunt luces: me terra recondet terrenum: per me sileant haec templa licebit tuque albis volvare revolvarisque quadrigis.

SONG.

HOME they brought her warrior dead: She nor swoon'd, nor utter'd cry:

All her maidens, watching, said,

'She must weep or she will die.'

Then they praised him, soft and low, Call'd him worthy to be loved,

Truest friend and noblest foe;

Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

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