Читать книгу Don Juan (With Byron's Biography) - Lord Byron - Страница 399

For still he lay, and on his thin worn cheek

A purple hectic played like dying day

On the snow-tops of distant hills; the streak

Of sufferance yet upon his forehead lay,

Where the blue veins looked shadowy, shrunk, and weak;

And his black curls were dewy with the spray,

Which weighed upon them yet, all damp and salt,

Mixed with the stony vapours of the vault.