As the jewel I drown in my hair, with its anguish
Of tortuous fire that quivers to-night"?
Tears may be.—This showy?—That silly white flower
Were better?—For me its simplicity? no!—
The gem I prefer to the lily.—The hour
Has struck: I am ready: my fan: let us go.
A GUINEVERE
Sullen gold down all the sky;