wherewith one awakes from a feverish dream of hopeless grief.
The old woman sang:
The great sun, benighted,
May feint from the sky ; But love, once uplighted,
Will never more die.
Form, with its brightness,
From eyes will depart: It walketh, in whiteness,
The halls of the heart.
Ere she had ceased singing, my courage had returned. I started from the couch, and, without taking leave of the old woman, opened the door of Sighs, and sprang into what should appear.
I stood in a lordly hall, where, by a blazing fire on the hearth, sat a lady, waiting, I knew, for some one long desired. A mirror was near me, but I saw that my form had no place within its depths, so I feared not that I should be seen. The lady wonderfully resembled my marble lady, but was altogether of the daughters of men, and I could not tell whether or not it was she. It was not for me she waited. The tramp of a great horse rang through the court without It ceased, and the clang of armour told that his rider alighted, and the sound of his ringing