Sprang upward, and in ravishment
Beheld a gaze on me intent.
The figure of a tender maid,
Within the larches' trembling glade
Clothèd in sunlight and in shade—
Was bending o'er me, and her breast
Full worthy of a King's behest
She offered, that my head might rest.
She was most pale, and frail, and white,
Like moonlit mist on Summer's night,