"What! is not this my place of strength,” she said, My spacious mansion built for me, Whereof the strong foundation-stones were laid Since my first memory? But in dark corners of her palace stood On white-eyed phantasms weeping tears of blood, And hollow shades enclosing hearts of flame, A spot of dull stagnation, without light Or power of movement, seemed my soul, 'Mid onward-sloping motions infinite Making for one sure goal. A still salt pool, locked in with bars of sand; A star that with the choral starry dance Back on herself her serpent pride had curled. She, mouldering with the dull earth's mouldering sod, Lay there exiled from eternal God, And death and life she hated equally, Remaining utterly confused with fears, Shut up as in a crumbling tomb, girt round Far off she seemed to hear the dully sound As in strange lands a traveller walking slow, A little before moon-rise hears the low And knows not if it be thunder or a sound She howled aloud, "I am on fire within. So when four years were wholly finished, “Make me a cottage in the vale,” she said, "Yet pull not down my palace towers, that are So lightly, beautifully built: Perchance I may return with others there LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE. LADY Clara Vere de Vere, Of me you shall not win renown; Lady Clara Vere de Vere, I know you proud to bear your name; Your pride is yet no mate for mine, Too proud to care from whence I came. Nor would I break for your sweet sake A heart that dotes on truer charms. A simple maiden in her flower Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms. |