Who, moving, cast the coverlet aside,
And bared the knotted column of his throat,
The massive square of his heroic breast, 75
And arms on which the standing muscle sloped,
As slopes a wild brook o’er a little stone,
Running too vehemently to break upon it.
And Enid woke and sat beside the couch,
Admiring him, and thought within herself, 80
Was ever man so grandly made as he?
Then, like a shadow, pass’d the people’s talk