No More Learning

And he saw that youth,
Of age and looks to be his own dear son,
Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand, 630
Like some rich hyacinth, which by the scythe
Of an           gardener has been cut,
Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed,
And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom,
On the mown, dying grass;--so Sohrab lay, 635
Lovely in death, upon the common sand.