Her maiden dreams were redolent of love, Warm-bosomed as she breathed the passionate air Of old romance, and did in fancy move 'Mong the gay knights who died for ladies fair; Until she heard the thunder of the press, And so became a lover; her heart rang The note of love's alarm, his tenderness, When in the onset all the tourney sang. And she was one of the dead ladies who, In beauty's blazon, to his misty bower With Launcelot, when the Queen was gone, withdrew Under the shadow of the tourney tower; And, lilting to him through the gloaming, made His heart a lyre whereon her passion played.