Constance De Castile A Poem, in Ten Cantos. By William Sotheby |
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Constance De Castile | ||
165
XIX.
It seem'd, a saint in amice grayCame forth to bless them on their way,
So peace sat pictur'd on his brow,
And white, as flakes of feathery snow
That fall when every wind has rest,
His beard descending swept his breast:
And lowly from his girdle hung
A cross that to his slow pace swung.
Constance De Castile | ||