From Flanders, of sinister ebon, carved
Sardonic with masks 'round an olden crest,
Gargoyle faces distorted and starved:
Fast fixed with a spring which they forced and lo!
When they opened it—ha, Hortense!—or, no!—
Fantastic a skeleton jeweled and wreathed
With flowers of dust, and a minever
About it hugged, which quaint richness sheathed
Of a bridal raiment and lace with fur.
—I'd have given such years of my life—yes, well!—