Mute sleeps the singer; he whose ear
At gates of other worlds had listened oft,
His song rolled forth like mountain torrent near;
Or lulled, like far-off fountain murmuring soft.

Thou sleepest still, thou sleepest calm,
Though over thee the storm and zephyr blow;
The storm that swelled thy strain to war's alarm,
The breath, that in thy lay of love sighed low.