Of madness—terrible and wonderful!
There was no passion there—no feeling traced
Under those eyelids, where had run to waste
All that was wild, or beautiful, or bright;
A very cloud was cast upon their light,
That gave to them the heavy hue of lead;
And they were lorn, lustreless, and dead!
He sate like vulture from the mountains gray,
Unsated, that had flown full many a day
O’er distant land and sea, and was in pride