Canto II.]
Orion.
121
And men turn pale who never shed a tear!
Thy task is finished—thou canst work no more—
Thy Maker takes thee, for he loved thee well.
Thy task is finished—thou canst work no more—
Thy Maker takes thee, for he loved thee well.
Haggard and chill as a lost ghost, the Morn,
With hair unbraided and unsandalled feet,—
Her colourless robe like a poor wandering smoke,—
Moved feebly up the heavens, and in her arms
A shadowy burden heavily bore; soon fading
In a dark rain, through which the sun arose
Scarce visible, and in his orb confused.
With hair unbraided and unsandalled feet,—
Her colourless robe like a poor wandering smoke,—
Moved feebly up the heavens, and in her arms
A shadowy burden heavily bore; soon fading
In a dark rain, through which the sun arose
Scarce visible, and in his orb confused.
