In the northern tower, where set on high my lamp,
Forestalling darkness with its seaward ray,
Sailors should look for, and on tranquil nights
Hear solemn music faintly, and believe
There was enchantment. Could I have my will,
So would I live. And where’s the gain to be
The daughter of a king, if every wish
Nearest one’s heart is of like course denied,
As to the meanest peasant ... when one word,
One nod could grant it?