XLVI

She gazed into the fresh-thrown mould, as though

      One glance did fully all its secrets tell;

Clearly she saw, as other eyes would know

      Pale limbs at bottom of a crystal well;

Upon the murderous spot she seem'd to grow,

      Like to a native lily of the dell:

Then with her knife, all sudden, she began

To dig more fervently than misers can.