There sat a maiden neath a regal tower
Girt with a forest of great oaks and pines,
It seemed a lodge of some high conqueror
In the old days, and round it creeping vines
Grew wildly, that no more men drank of now;
And in the topmost arch there was a bell
That with the wind did vibrate; vague and low
Sped over the hills its modulated swell;
Palely she sat, and at her side were things
Of strange device to measure earth and stars,
And a small quiet genius with his wings
Upfolded and his eyes still fixed on hers,
Men uttered not her queenly name, but she
Had graved it in the dust, Melancoly.