and placed himself within, And heaped the leaves high o’er him and around, As one who, dwelling in the distant fields, Without a neighbor near him, hides a brand In the dark ashes, keeping carefully The seeds of fire alive, lest he, perforce, To light his hearth must bring them from afar; So did Ulysses in that pile of leaves Bury himself, while Pallas o’er his eyes Poured sleep, and closed his lids, that he might take, After his painful toils, the fitting rest.
Table of Contents
Book V
97