No force of Asgard mine, nor Heven whence I came, Before this day would be a candle to my flame. Yet while I slept alone in artificial night Some trickster sprite unseen did on my lips alight. Now where fair Sera be, I do not know, But in her absence still her ballads flow With mine the tongue that, silver'd, casts the words Into the air from which madness I've inferred.