XXVI.

She turned and saw him, but she felt no dread, Her purity, like adamantine mail, Did so encircle her; and yet her head She drooped, and made her golden hair her veil, Through which a glow of rosiest lustre spread, Then faded, and anon she stood all pale, As snow o'er which a blush of northern-light Suddenly reddens, and as soon grows white.