Of all she lov'd—low-weeping as the birds
Shrill'd out of tune, and all the frighten'd herds
Scamper'd to death, in spite of pipe and crook.
XIV.
I know, to-day, why winds were made to sigh
And why they hide themselves, and why they gloat
In some old ruin! Mote confers with mote,
And shell with shell; and corals live and die,
And die and live, below the deep. And why?
To make a necklace for my lady's throat.