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MORTA.
149
By spirit-law is given to me The excellence of spirit-sight: Ensphered by this undazzling light,A silent, smileless group I see.
Two white-garbed spinners at a wheel Whence constant, mad complainings flow; And One, whose task I may not know,Nor its significance unseal.
An ebon crown, of regal mold, Circles the grandeur of her head; The whiteness of her robe is dread;And she is wan and very old.
No wind is in her silver hair; No breath from her pale mouth exhales: Yet, toward me, while she slowly sails,My soul her answering speech will dare.
O woman of the shrouded eye, Of frigid mien and ashen brow, Speak: wherefore, whence, and who art thou?Resolve this threefold mystery.
"By this calm brow—most dreary calm! By this white cheek—most deathly white!
