She sat until the tempest-pitch
In her torn bosom fell;
—His wife must be a subtle witch,
Or else God loves her well!
III.
I.
Old Kraken read a missive penned
By his great Lady's hand.
Her condescension called him friend,
She sat until the tempest-pitch
In her torn bosom fell;
—His wife must be a subtle witch,
Or else God loves her well!
I.
Old Kraken read a missive penned
By his great Lady's hand.
Her condescension called him friend,