With beryl battlements and paved with pearls;
Its lambent towers wrought of foamy swirls
Of alabaster; and that witch to love
More beautiful than any queen above.—
He pauses, troubled: but a wizard power,
In all his bronzen harness, that mad hour
Plunges him—whither? What if he should miss
Those cloudy beauties and that creature's kiss?—
Ah, Morgane, that same power Accolon
Found potent in thine eyes, and it hath drawn