I lift my  up solemnly,

    As once Electra her sepulchral urn,

    And, looking in turn

    t t. Behold and see

    a great heap of grief lay hid in me,

    And he red wild sparkles dimly burn

    t in scorn

    Could tread t to darkness utterly,

    It mig if instead

    t beside me for to blow

    t up, . . . thine head,

    O my Beloved,  shee so,

    t none of all the fires shall scorch and shred

    tand farthen ! go.