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Beneath the cedars in the setting sun,
My eyes were dazzled, in the dying light;
She seem'd transfigur'd: gold her garment glow'd,
Girt with the living cincture of a snake,
Flower'd with faintly flickering flowers of flame,
Whilst as of molten gold, a diadem,
Sullenly glowing, burn'd upon her brow,
And this the message she bade me give:
'To-night, Sylvester, will your bond fall due,
And payment be awaited.' Then she pass'd;
A dusky moth lured by the endless flame,
She seem'd, in the low, red sunset, vanishing
Between the cedar and the plumy pine.
Madam Pomeroy:
What said Sylvester when he heard of this?
Robin:
He gazed upon me with so lost a look,
Haggard in horror-haunted revery,
