His Head Within My Bosom Lay, But Yet His Spirit Slipped Not Through: I Only Felt The Burning Clay That Withered For The Cooling Dew. It Was But Pity When I Spoke And Called Him To My Heart For Rest, And Half A Mother'S Love That Woke Feeling His Head Upon My Breast: And Half The Lion'S Tenderness To Shield Her Cubs From Hurt Or Death, Which, When The Serried Hunters Press, Makes Terrible Her Wounded Breath. But When The Lips I Breathed Upon Asked For Such Love As Equals Claim I Looked Where All The Stars Were Gone Burned In The Day'S Immortal Flame. 'Come Thou Like Yon Great Dawn To Me From Darkness Vanquished, Battles Done: Flame Unto Flame Shall Flow And Be Within Thy Heart And Mine As One.'