:Forged by the beats of elemental passion.

Like some young tressèd tree

That sighs to each . . . wind, so he

Stretched arms to welcome Love, who softly winging

Came down to earth from lands beyond the dawn;

Her strength and gentleness inspired his singing,

Until she stood amazed, from whom 'twas drawn.

Spirit of love, draw near this monument

And veil the ancient glory of thy head,

For he is dead, whose silver days were spent

In thy eternal service, he is dead

And borne aloft away

On gloomy wings outspread

More strong and sure than thy bright plumes,

O mistress of a day!

Nothing of him is left us, save this scroll,

The fire-thrown shadow of his silent soul,

The glass whose even rondure is to keep

The immortal country of his mortal sleep.

Where terrors move and angry phantoms cry,

Titans and tyrants in a ragged sky,

Where in tall caves magicians read the rune,

And white limbs glitter in the plenilune;