'His hoof-prints crumbled down the vale,
But left behind their lava;
What should have been my woman's mail,
Grew jellied as guava:
I looked him proud, but 'neath my pride
I felt a boneless tremor;
He was the Beër, I descried,
And I was but the Seemer!
'Ah, how to be what then I seemed,
And bid him seem that is so!