Ylladmar

Her hair was, oh, so dense a

Of darkness, midnight envied her;

And stars grew dimmer in the

To see the glory of her eyes;

And all the summer rain of

That showered from the moon at

Fell o'er her features as the

Of twilight o'er a lily-bloom.

The crimson fruitage of her

Was ripe and lush with sweeter

Than burgundy or

Or vintage that the burgher

In some old garden on the Rhine:

And I to taste of it could

Believe my heart a

Of molten love—and I could

The drunken soul within me

And rock and stagger till it fell.

And do you wonder that I

Before her splendor as a

Of storm the golden-sandaled

Had set his conquering foot upon?

And did she will it,

I could

In writhing rapture down and dieA death so full of precious painI'd waken up to die again.