deg.100

* * * * *

You see them clear--the moon shines bright.
Slow, slow and softly, where she stood,
She sinks upon the ground;--her hood
Has fallen back; her arms outspread
Still hold her lover's hand; her head 105
Is bow'd, half-buried, on the bed.
O'er the blanch'd sheet her raven hair
Lies in disorder'd streams; and there,
Strung like white stars, the pearls still are,
And the golden bracelets, heavy and rare, 110
Flash on her white arms still.
The very same which yesternight
Flash'd in the silver sconces' deg. light, deg.113
When the feast was gay and the laughter loud
In Tyntagel's palace proud. 115
But then they deck'd a restless ghost
With hot-flush'd cheeks and brilliant eyes,
And quivering lips on which the tide
Of courtly speech abruptly died,
And a glance which over the crowded floor, 120
The dancers, and the festive host,
Flew ever to the door. deg. deg.122
That the knights eyed her in surprise,
And the dames whispered scoffingly:
"Her moods, good lack, they pass like showers! 125
But yesternight and she would be
As pale and still as wither'd flowers,
And now to-night she laughs and speaks
And has a colour in her cheeks;
Christ keep us from such fantasy!"-- 130
Yes, now the longing is o'erpast,
Which, dogg'd deg. by fear and fought by shame, deg.132
Shook her weak bosom day and night,
Consumed her beauty like a flame,
And dimm'd it like the desert-blast. 135
And though the bed-clothes hide her face,
Yet were it lifted to the light,
The sweet expression of her brow
Would charm the gazer, till his thought
Erased the ravages of time, 140
Fill'd up the hollow cheek, and brought
A freshness back as of her prime--
So healing is her quiet now.
So perfectly the lines express
A tranquil, settled loveliness, 145
Her younger rival's purest grace.

The air of the December-night
Steals coldly around the chamber bright,
Where those lifeless lovers be;
Swinging with it, in the light 150
Flaps the ghostlike tapestry.
And on the arras wrought you see