A Picture

Through the half-open'd casement stream'd the light
  Of the departing sun. The golden haze
  Of the red western sky fell warm and bright
  Into that chamber large and lone: the blaze
  Touch'd slantingly curtain and couch, and threw
  A glory over many an antique gem,
  Won from the entombed cities that once grew
  At the volcano's foot. Mingled with them
  Stood crystal bowls, through which the broken ray
  Fell like a shower of precious stones, and lay
  Reflected upon marble; these were crown'd
  With blushing flowers, fresh and glittering yet
  With diamond rain drops. On the crimson ground
  A shining volume, clasp'd with gold and jet,
  And broken petals of a passion flow'r
  Lay by the lady of this silent bow'r.
  Her rippling hair fell from the pearly round
  That strove to clasp its billowy curls: the light
  Hung like a glory on their waves of gold.
  Her velvet robe, in many a violet fold,
  Like the dark pansy's downy leaf, was bound
  With a gold zone, and clasp'd with jewels bright,
  That glow'd and danced as with a magic flame
  Whene'er her measured breathing stirr'd her frame.
  Upon her breast and shoulders lay a veil
  Of curious needle-work, as pure and pale
  As a fine web of ivory, wrought with care,
  Through which her snowy skin show'd smooth and fair.
  Upon the hand that propp'd her drooping head,
  A precious emerald, like a fairy well,
  Gleam'd with dark solemn lustre; a rich thread
  Of rare round pearls—such as old legends tell
  Th' Egyptian queen pledged to her Roman lord,
  When in her cup a kingdom's price she pour'd,—
  Circled each soft white arm. A painter well
  Might have been glad to look upon her face,
  For it was full of beauty, truth, and grace;
  And from her lustrous eyes her spirit shone
  Serene, and strong, and still, as from a throne.