Golden rose the house, in the portal I saw

thee, a marvel, carven in subtle stuff, a portent.

Life died down in the lamp and flickered,

caught at the wonder.

Crimson, frosty with dew, the roses bend where

thou afar moving in the glamorous sun

drinkst in life of earth, of the air, the tissue

golden about thee.

Green the ways, the breath of the fields is thine there,

open lies the land, yet the steely going

darkly hast thou dared and the dreaded æther

parted before thee.

Swift at courage thou in the shell of gold, casting

a-loose the cloak of the body, camest

straight, then shone thine oriel and the stunned light

faded about thee.

Half the graven shoulder, the throat aflash with

strands of light inwoven about it, loveliest

of all things, frail alabaster, ah me!

swift in departing,

Clothed in goldish weft, delicately perfect,

gone as wind! The cloth of the magical hands!

Thou a slight thing, thou in access of cunning

dar’dst to assume this?