Iii

Quite a dealer in death. And ours was a case That those difficult drugs of his laboratory Demanded. I visited; found him; his face, Bent over a sublimate,--safe from the hoary Light particles,--masked with a mask of fine glass. I told him your danger, Marie, and expounded Our passion, despair, with many an "Alas!" He smiled while a paste in a mortar he pounded.