Ænigma
How can I tell it?
I saw a thing
That I did not find strange
In my visioning.
A flawless tall mirror,
Glass dim and green;
And a tall, dim figure
There was between:
Pale, so pale her face
As veils of thin water;
And her eyes water-pale,
And the moonlight on her;
And she was dying, dying;
She combed her long hair,
And the crimson blood ran
In the fine gold there.
She was dying, dying ...
And in her perfect eye
No terror lurked; nor pity
That she should so die.