I lift my heavy heart up solemnly, br As once Electra her sepulchral urn, br And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn br The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see br What a great heap of grief lay hid in me, br And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn br Through the ashen greyness. If thy foot in scorn br Could tread them out to darkness utterly, br It might be well perhaps. But if instead br Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow br The grey dust up,...those laurels on thine head, br O my Belovèd, will not shield thee so, br That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred br The hair beneath. Stand farther off then! go.