Amid the leprous hues; and o’er it play’d
The straggling moonlight and the merry breeze,
Like two fair elves that by the murmuring seas
Woo’d smilingly together; but there fell
No life-gleam on the brow, all terrible
Becoming, through its beauty, like a cloud
That waneth paler even than a shroud,
All gorgeous and all glorious before;
For waste, like to the wanton night, was o’er
Her virgin features, stealing them away—