O'er my remains to drop a tear,
And think: here lies who loved me well,
For consecrate to me he fell
In the dawn of existence drear.
Maid whom my heart desires alone,
Approach, approach; I am thine own."
XXI
Thus in a style obscure and stale, (64)
He wrote ('tis the romantic style,
Though of romance therein I fail
To see aught—never mind meanwhile)
And about dawn upon his breast