XXIII.
9 lines✦
ut went the taper as she hurried in;Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died: 200She clos'd the door, she panted, all akinTo spirits of the air, and visions wide:No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!But to her heart, her heart was voluble,Paining with eloquence her balmy side;As though a tongueless nightingale should swellHer throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.
✦