12. 
For she was beautiful—­her beauty made
The bright world dim, and everything beside
Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade: 
No thought of living spirit could abide, 140
Which to her looks had ever been betrayed,
On any object in the world so wide,
On any hope within the circling skies,
But on her form, and in her inmost eyes.

13. 
Which when the lady knew, she took her spindle 145
And twined three threads of fleecy mist, and three
Long lines of light, such as the dawn may kindle
The clouds and waves and mountains with; and she
As many star-beams, ere their lamps could dwindle
In the belated moon, wound skilfully; 150
And with these threads a subtle veil she wove—­
A shadow for the splendour of her love.

14. 
The deep recesses of her odorous dwelling
Were stored with magic treasures—­sounds of air,
Which had the power all spirits of compelling, 155
Folded in cells of crystal silence there;
Such as we hear in youth, and think the feeling
Will never die—­yet ere we are aware,
The feeling and the sound are fled and gone,
And the regret they leave remains alone. 160

15. 
And there lay Visions swift, and sweet, and quaint,
Each in its thin sheath, like a chrysalis,
Some eager to burst forth, some weak and faint
With the soft burthen of intensest bliss. 
It was its work to bear to many a saint 165
Whose heart adores the shrine which holiest is,
Even Love’s:—­and others white, green, gray, and black,
And of all shapes—­and each was at her beck.

16. 
And odours in a kind of aviary
Of ever-blooming Eden-trees she kept, 170
Clipped in a floating net, a love-sick Fairy
Had woven from dew-beams while the moon yet slept;
As bats at the wired window of a dairy,
They beat their vans; and each was an adept,
When loosed and missioned, making wings of winds, 175
To stir sweet thoughts or sad, in destined minds.

17. 
And liquors clear and sweet, whose healthful might
Could medicine the sick soul to happy sleep,
And change eternal death into a night
Of glorious dreams—­or if eyes needs must weep, 180
Could make their tears all wonder and delight,
She in her crystal vials did closely keep: 
If men could drink of those clear vials, ’tis said
The living were not envied of the dead.

18. 
Her cave was stored with scrolls of strange device, 185
The works of some Saturnian Archimage,
Which taught the expiations at whose price
Men from the Gods might win that happy age
Too lightly lost, redeeming native vice;
And which might quench the Earth-consuming rage 190
Of gold and blood—­till men should live and move
Harmonious as the sacred stars above;