On all the street, that, quiet as the cell
IX.
Of Indian saint by Ganges’ marge afar,
Within a moment’s interval became;
For on a rose-ensanguined ivory car,
Of swanlike shape, and lovelier than the wain
Of Dawn, came Laïs, Eros’ idol fair,
Delicious, soft, and warm as vernal air.
X.
A golden tiar begirt her forehead white,