To dream of women whose beauty was folded in dismay,
Even in an old story, is a burden not to be borne.
THE HOLLOW WOOD
O hurry to the water amid the trees,
For there the tall deer and his leman sigh
When they have but looked upon their images,
O that none ever loved but you and I!
Or have you heard that sliding silver-shoed,
Pale silver-proud queen-woman of the sky,