TO THE COUNTESS HELÉNE ZAVADOWSKY. br br WHEN our young Queen put on her rightful crown br In Gothic Westminster's long-hallow'd walls, br The eye upon no lovelier sight look'd down br Than thou, fair Russian! Memory still recalls br The soft light of thy sapphire-colour'd eyes, br The rich twine of thy simply-braided hair, br And the low murmur of the crowd's surprise br To see thee pass along so strangely fair.