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what's o'clock
Moving with stately graciousness within
The frame of his imaginings. She fringed
His dream with filigrees of excellence,
A lace of buds and scarcely opened flowers
Just touched with morning hoar-frost. But the king
Had his own dreams and would not enter Neron's,
Black dreams peculiar to a bearded king.
They injured Neron in his own esteem,
Chafing him to achieve a greater thing
Than he had yet conceived. His ardour grew
To match himself against the king, and crack
The shell of high omnipotence in two
And gloat upon the scattered empty halves
Lolling lopsided on the dusty floor.
So gradually he wrought a miracle,
Merging himself into the royal dream—
But not as ancient Neron, that old man
Had plumped himself with visions of the queen
Into a proper youth whose sap tan hot
The frame of his imaginings. She fringed
His dream with filigrees of excellence,
A lace of buds and scarcely opened flowers
Just touched with morning hoar-frost. But the king
Had his own dreams and would not enter Neron's,
Black dreams peculiar to a bearded king.
They injured Neron in his own esteem,
Chafing him to achieve a greater thing
Than he had yet conceived. His ardour grew
To match himself against the king, and crack
The shell of high omnipotence in two
And gloat upon the scattered empty halves
Lolling lopsided on the dusty floor.
So gradually he wrought a miracle,
Merging himself into the royal dream—
But not as ancient Neron, that old man
Had plumped himself with visions of the queen
Into a proper youth whose sap tan hot
