Her gesture is the soaring of a hymn,
Her voice has robbed the spoil of Hybla’s bees;
And like the frozen music of a frieze,
Calm, as she moves majestic, every limb.
Clear as a crystal beaker’s sounding rim,
Her heart gives voice to sobbing melodies,
And her frame trembles, swept by passion’s breeze,
And sultry clouds her blazing eyes bedim.
A faery caught in her own fatal snare,
A wounded eagle struggling to be free,
Whose Kingdom was the snow and the sun’s flame
More queenly than all empresses is she,
Discrowned albeit, defeated and in despair;
The stricken lily puts the rose to shame.