Where paths entwine, where hills and valleys be,
And still, black pools; the cypress mystically
Shrouds those dark ways. There living souls may tread
With but slow steps and rare. With slow steps, led
By Love two lovers passed; they spake, and she
Cast down her mystic eyes lest he might see
In their vague depths the image of her dread.
A great round-tower of granite crowns that land.
Thither they came, and now her starry eyes
Were raised to his; that dread which wrought them ill