Don Juan 02-147
Canto the Second

CXLVII

For still he lay, and on his thin worn cheek
     A purple hectic play'd like dying day
On the snow-tops of distant hills; the streak
     Of sufferance yet upon his forehead lay,
Where the blue veins look'd shadowy, shrunk, and weak;
     And his black curls were dewy with the spray,
Which weigh'd upon them yet, all damp and salt,
Mix'd with the stony vapours of the vault.

George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron (1788-1824) ByronLong