Viii

Then he cried, and his dark eyes keen glistened, "Lost! lost! for that perilous music! Oh God! for that tyrannous strain! To which in my dreams I have listened, Ah, wretch! I have listened with pain!" And he tost on the garment of satin His deep raven darkness of hair, And the song at my lips was ungathered, And I sate there to marvel and stare.