Roger

We say that you, against all light received, Against all laws of prudence and of love, Practise dark magic on our sister's soul— That by strange motions, incantations, spells, So work you on her spirit that strange sleep, Sombre as Death's dark shadow, presently Steals o'er her fragile body, dulls her sense, And wraps her wholly in its chill embrace; That thus, spell-bound, lost to the living world, She lies till thou again unwind her chain, And wak'st her feebly to this life of earth. Thus dost thou peril her, thou blinded man! Sett'st her dear life against thy moonstruck thought, And slay'st thy dove on Folly's altar-steps.