Like mine, the veins of these that slumber

Like mine, the veins of these that slumber

Leapt once with dancing fires divine;

The blood of all this noteless number

Ran red like mine.

How still, with every pulse in station,

Frost in the founts that used to leap,

The put to death, the perished nation,

How sound they sleep!

These too, these veins which life convulses,

Wait but a while, shall cease to bound;

I with the ice in all my pulses

Shall sleep as sound.