XXXVII + 

’Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet + 

“This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!” + 

’Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat: + 

“No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! + 

Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine.⁠— + 

Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? + 

I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, + 

Though thou forsakest a deceived thing;⁠— + 

A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing.” + 