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