XVI
I was a fool to hide it. Here
Phantoms arise and disappear,
Obedient to the master’s wand.
The incense curls like a pale frond
Of some grey garden glory about
This room ; I take my sceptre out,
My royal crown; invoke, evoke
These phantoms in the glimmering smoke ;
And you shall see—and take no hurt—
The very limb yon garter girt.
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