Which without consciousness the lids release.
All steadily, one little sparkle red,
Afar, drew close. A woman’s form grew up
Out of the dimness, tall, with queen-like head,
And in one hand was fire; in one, a cup.
Of aspect grave she was, with eyes upraised,
As one whose thoughts perpetually did sup
At the Lord’s table.
While the cresset blazed,
Her I regarded. “Daughter, whither bent,