Pale 'mid their pads; above them, huge with chains,
The drawbridge hung before the barbéd grate;
And far above, along lone battlements,
His armor moon-drenched, one lone sentinel
Clanked drowsily; and it was late in June.
She, at her lattice, loosely night-robed, leaned,
Thinking of one she loved: a pensive smile
Haunting her face; a face as fair as night's,
Night's when divinely beautiful with stars,
Two stars, at least, that dreamed beneath her brows.