And fairy forms obey the sound
With looks of love and smiles of pleasure,
Responsive to the minstrels’ measure,
White woman, say, what dost thou here,
Wearing that cold unearthly sneer?
A baleful fire lights up thine eye,
Which cannot warm, and will not die.
Thou seem’st a deathlike chill to bring,
Like the last snow-shower deep in spring,
When tepid winds and blushing flowers