I lift my up solemnly,
As once Electra her sepulchral urn,
And, looking in turn
t t. Behold and see
a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
And he red wild sparkles dimly burn
t in scorn
Could tread t to darkness utterly,
It mig if instead
t beside me for to blow
t up, . . . thine head,
O my Beloved, shee so,
t none of all the fires shall scorch and shred
tand farthen ! go.