126 
AMBERGRIS 
Bring their carved pitchers to the moss-grown side. 
For now beyond, below the east, appears 
A hint as if a band, silvern and wide, 
The girdle of some goddess amber-eyed, 
Rose from the solemn company of the spheres. 
 
The sky is tinged, as if the amorous flesh 
Of that same queen shone through the girdle drawn 
By her own kissing fevour through its mesh. 
Last, glory of godhead !  flickers, flames the fresh 
First faint frail rose and arrow of the dawn.