And the snows of the Winter lay deep around,
When the hard news came and I knew at last;
And the reigning woe of my heart was crowned.
So I sought her here: the old Earl's bride:
In the ancient room, at the oriel dreaming,
Pale as the blooms in her hair; and, wide,
The dented satin, flung stormily, gleaming
Like beaten silver, twilight-dyed.
I marked as I stole to her side that tears
Were vaguely large in her beautiful eyes;