XV

Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon,

      While Porphyro upon her face doth look,

      Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone

      Who keepeth closed a wond'rous riddle-book,

      As spectacled she sits in chimney nook.

      But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told

      His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook

      Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold,

And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old.