No rays from the holy heaven come down On the long night-time of that town; But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently - Gleams up the pinnacles far and free - Up domes - up spires - up kingly halls - Up fanes
- up Babylon-like walls - Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers Of scultured ivy and stone flowers - Up many and many a marvellous shrine Whose wreathed friezes intertwine The viol, the violet, and the vine.
"Horns of Elfland" never sounded more sweetly around hoary castle and ruined fane
than those vesper calls of the robins from the twilight spruce woods and across green pastures lying under the pale radiance of a young moon.
With the snake-like writhings of an idea he glided into another female heart; but this seemed to him like a large holy fane
.* The white dove of innocence fluttered over the altar.