Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from A Pomander of Verse
The enchanted portals of her palace stand, And there her sleepless sentinels are set.
All round grow forests of white eglantine And drooping, dreaming clematis there blows The purple nightshade; there pale bindweeds twine And there the pale, frail ?ower of slumber grows.
Her palaces are decked with gleaming wings, Hung o'er with webs through spacious bower and hall, Filled through and through with precious price less things She is their mistress and she hates them all.
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