 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
141
It fastens; shining with fair pearls beset;
Treasure of restless waves, on Albans shore.
Her camis bright, is broidered with Spring flowers.
Her wimple, súbtle is as gossamer weft:
(She it, goddess, letteth fall, before Her face;
As dreading taint of Great Dead Underworld.)
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |