So in his agony at noon he came, <br />On the third day, to where without the walls <br />Stood San Lorenzo with its front of flame, <br />Where mourners wait the accustomed funerals. <br />Here to a cypress having tied his steed, <br />He lighted down sore weary on the grass, <br />Seeking such comfort for his body's need <br />As rest could lend till the day's heat should pass <br />And no man stopped him, either friend or foe <br />Or knight or citizen or friar or priest; <br />Nor sought he more companionship of woe <br />Than the dumb presence of his jaded beast. <br />There, hidden in the shade where he had crept, <br />Adrian o'erspent with sorrow soundly slept.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/natalia-s-resurrection-sonnet-xi/
