Chapter XLIX: The Change

I spun my soul about with soft cocoons Of pleasure golden-pale. For me, for me Were precious things put forth by crescent moons, Of pearl and milky jade and ivory. Grave players on ethereal harpsichords, My senses wrought a music exquisite As patterned roses, all my life's accords Were richer, ghostlier than peacocks white. So in my paradise reserved and fair I grew as dreamlike as the Elysian dead; Until a passing Wizard smote me there, And suddenly my soul inherited Some gorgeous terrible dukedom of desire Like those in bright Andromeda's realms of fire.