Could tread them out to darkness utterly,

The gray dust up, . . .九_九_藏_书_网 those laurels on thine head,

As once Electra her sepulchral urn,

And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn

The hair beneath. Stand farther off then ! go.

Through the ashen grayne９９ｌib•nｅtss. If thy foot in scorn

Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow

And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn

It m九-九-藏-书-网ight be well perhaps. But if instead

What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,

That none of all the fires shall sco九九藏书网rch and shred

I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,

O my Beloved, will not shield thee so,

The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see