Jewels bled from weeping crowns,。，She is Madness, none may doubt.
Whither their great lord may sling.。，Danube rolls in the moonbeam
Quaffing idle, conquering nought.。，Island on ice-island rears;
Mouthing low, at paw.。，
And the trumpet-notes were sprung。，XV
Swift, and blotted from the sight.。，O for the time when God's delight
He died, sped high by a lady of grace。，Turn them as the clods in furrow,
How she walked, how withered white,。，As the southern summer fig,
Take them on the wing! but war,。，Nay, not wrath the king possessed,
Shyer than the forest doe。，The Love we have vowed to rear.
Spied, nor overloudly laughed;。，III
Then the bitter chamber heard。，He that scarce can munch his oats,
Hard the grey lip-ringlet gnawed,。，Was it terror of her lord?
Scent in their quick pang to smite。，Ripened in the womb!
Down from East to Western sun.。，Till a gentle-breathing morn
。，Still her arms the master hold,
Armed to split a mountain, sunder seas:。，
，II。，Fair, by the flushed early morning embraced,