Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine, And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.

And nearer as they came, a genial savour Of certain stews, and roast-meats, and pilaus. Things which in hungry mortals' eyes find favour.

And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They have a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.

Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth; Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow, Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth, Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow, As if her veins ran lightning.

Thou who hast The fatal gist of beauty.