Crying an incantation—learned, Where? When?...
White swirled the foam, a fount, a blinding gleam
Of ice-cold breast, cruel eyes, wild mouth—and then
A still dirge echoing on from dream to dream.
MOURN'ST THOU NOW?
LONG ago from radiant palace,
Dream-bemused, in flood of moon,
Stole the princess Seraphita
Into forest gloom.
Wail of hemlock; cold the dewdrops;