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 And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, (Heaven's Mother send us grace!) As if through a dungeon-grate he peer'd, With broad and burning face.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears! Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, Like restless gossameres!

Are those her ribs through which the Sun Did peer, as through a grate? And is that Woman all her crew? Is that a ? and are there two? Is that woman's mate?

Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Night-Mair was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold.

The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice;