I started once, or seem'd to start in pain, Resolved on noble things, and strove to

speak,

brain,

Whereto the other with a downward brow:

"I would the white cold heavy-plunging foam,

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."

I turning saw, throned on a flowery rise,
One sitting on a crimson scarf unroll'd;
A queen, with swarthy cheeks and bold black

name

Sigh'd forth with life I would not brook my fear

Of the other: with a worm I balk'd his fame.

What else was left? look here!"

(With that she tore her robe apart, and half The polish'd argent of her breast to sight Laid bare. Thereto she pointed with a laugh,

Showing the aspic's bite.)

"I died a Queen. The Roman soldier found Me lying dead, my crown about my brows,

A name forever! - lying robed and crown'd, Worthy a Roman spouse."

I would be born and die.

'Single I grew, like some green plant, whose

Feeding the flower; but ere my flower to fruit Changed, I was ripe for death.