  SIGHED the wind to the wheat:— 'The Queen who is slumbering there, Once bewildered the rose; Scorned, "Thou un-fair!" Once, from that bird-whirring court, Ascended the ruinous stair. Aloft, on that weed-hung turret, suns Smote on her hair— Of a gold by Archiac sought, Of a gold sea-hid, Of a gold that from core of quartz No flame shall bid Pour into light of the air For God's Jews to see.' Mocked the wheat to the wind— 'Kiss me! Kiss me!'
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