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THE PRINCESS;
And secret laughter tickled all my soul.At last I took my anele in a vine,That claspt the feet of a Mnemosyne,And falling on my face was caught and known.
 They haled us to the Princess where she satHigh in the hall: above her droop’d a lamp,And made the single jewel on her browBurn like the mystic fire on a mast-head,Prophet of storm: a handmaid on each sideBow’d toward her, combing out her long black hairDamp from the river; and close behind her stoodEight daughters of the plough, stronger than men,Huge women blowzed with health, and wind, and rainAnd labour. Each was like a Druid rock;Or like a spire of land that stands apartCleft from the main, and clang'd about with mews.
 Then, as we came, the crowd dividing cloveAn advent to the throne; and therebeside,
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