The maiden’s jet-black hair has grown.
On either side her tranced form
Forth streaming from a braid of pearl:
The slumbrous light is rich and warm,
And moves not on the rounded curl.
The silk star-broider’d coverlid
Unto her limbs itself doth mould
Languidly ever; and, amid
The full black ringlets downward roll’d,
Glows forth each softly-shadow’d arm