Which the dogs tear upon the rush-strewn floor
While even the moonlight sleeps upon the hills,
I build again, out of my memories,
The storm and splendour of my troubled life.
Even the narrow frontiers of this cell
May in the crystal vision of the mind
Hold my remembered royalty, and keep
Dim memories of old magnificence,
Pomp, courtly festivals, and crowded days,
Of lovers who bent yearningly to me,