And lastly as I stand here. (To Alexandra.) Is it then
Not passing strange if dreams step into life?
Again the gleaming mirror overmisted,
The light grew ashen-coloured and myself,
So shortly since a blooming creature, blanched
As though beneath the splendour of this garb
My every vein had long been stilly bleeding.
A shudder gripped me, and I cried “I come now
As skull and bones and that I will not see!”
And then I turned away—