At last methought that I had wander’d far In an old wood: fresh-wash’d in coolest dew, The maiden splendours of the morning star Shook in the steadfast[5] blue. Enormous elmtree-boles did stoop and lean Upon the dusky brushwood underneath Their broad curved branches, fledged with clearest green, New from its silken sheath. The dim red morn had died, her journey done, And with dead lips smiled at the twilight plain, Half-fall’n across the threshold of the sun, Never to rise again. There was no motion in the dumb dead air, Not any song of bird or sound of rill; Gross darkness of the inner sepulchre Is not so deadly still As that wide forest. Growths of jasmine turn’d Their humid arms festooning tree to tree,[6] And at the root thro’ lush green grasses burn’d The red anemone. I knew the flowers, I knew the leaves, I knew The tearful glimmer of the languid dawn On those long, rank, dark wood-walks, drench’d in dew, Leading from lawn to lawn. The smell of violets, hidden in the green, Pour’d back into my empty soul and frame The times when I remember to have been Joyful and free from blame. And from within me a clear under-tone Thrill’d thro’ mine ears in that unblissful clime “Pass freely thro’: the wood is all thine own, Until the end of time”. At length I saw a lady[7] within call, Stiller than chisell’d marble, standing there; A daughter of the gods, divinely tall,[8] And most divinely fair. Her loveliness with shame and with surprise Froze my swift speech: she turning on my face The star-like sorrows of immortal eyes, Spoke slowly in her place. “I had great beauty: ask thou not my name: No one can be more wise than destiny. Many drew swords and died. Where’er I came I brought calamity.” “No marvel, sovereign lady[9]: in fair field Myself for such a face had boldly died,”[10] I answer’d free; and turning I appeal’d To one[11] that stood beside. But she, with sick and scornful looks averse, To her full height her stately stature draws; “My youth,” she said, “was blasted with a curse: This woman was the cause. “I was cut off from hope in that sad place,[12] Which yet to name my spirit loathes and fears:[13] My father held his hand upon his face; I, blinded with my tears, “Still strove to speak: my voice was thick with sighs As in a dream. Dimly I could descry The stern black-bearded kings with wolfish eyes, Waiting to see me die. “The high masts flicker’d as they lay afloat; The crowds, the temples, waver’d, and the shore; The bright death quiver’d at the victim’s throat; Touch’d; and I knew no more.”[14] Whereto the other with a downward brow: “I would the white cold heavy-plunging foam,[15] Whirl’d by the wind, had roll’d me deep below, Then when I left my home.” Her slow full words sank thro’ the silence drear, As thunder-drops fall on a sleeping sea: Sudden I heard a voice that cried, “Come here, That I may look on thee”.