She sits within the white oak hall,
Hung with the trophies of the chase—
Helen, a stately maid and tall,
Dark-haired and pale of face;
With drooping lids and eyes that brood,
Sunk in the depths of some strange mood,
She gazes in the fireplace, where
The oozing pine logs snap and flare,
Wafting the perfume of their native...
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Such times as windy moods do stir
The foamless billows of the wheat,
I glimpse the floating limbs of her
In instant visions melting sweet.A milky shoulder’s dip and gleam,
Or arms that clasp upon the air,
An upturned face’s rosy dream,
Half blinded by the sunlit hair.A haunting mermaid mid the swell
And...