Faints in the outer silence the hunting cry.
Love of its muted music breathes no sigh,
Thought in her ivory tower gropes in her spinning,
Toss on in vain the whispering trees of Eden,
Last of all last words spoken is, Good-bye.
THE MONOLOGUE
ALAS, O Lovely One,
Imprisoned here,
I tap; thou answerest not,
I doubt, and fear.