The young Endymion sleeps Endymion's sleep; <br /> The shepherd-boy whose tale was left half told! <br /> The solemn grove uplifts its shield of gold <br /> To the red rising moon, and loud and deep <br /> The nightingale is singing from the steep; <br /> It is midsummer, but the air is cold; <br /> Can it be death? Alas, beside the fold <br /> A shepherd's pipe lies shattered near his sheep. <br /> Lo! in the moonlight gleams a marble white, <br /> On which I read: "Here lieth one whose name <br /> Was writ in water." And was this the meed <br /> Of his sweet singing? Rather let me write: <br /> "The smoking flax before it burst to flame <br /> Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed."<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/keats-2/
