The doors are open, and the floors are strewed,
And in the bridal chamber curtains sewn
With all enchantments that give happiness,
By races that are germane to the sun,
And nearest him, and have no blood in their veins—
For when they’re wounded the wound drips with wine—
Nor speech but singing. At the bridal door
Two fair king’s daughters carry in their hands
The crown and robe.
DEIDRE.