Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — Keats

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."