Wide In The West, A Lake Of Flame That Seems To Shake As If The Midgard Snake Deep Down Did Breathe: An Isle Of Purple Glow, Where Rosy Rivers Flow Down Peaks Of Cloudy Snow With Fire Beneath. And There The Tower-Of-Night, With Windows All A-Light, Frowns On A Burning Height; Wherein She Sleeps, Young Through The Years Of Doom, Veiled With Her Hair'S Gold Gloom, The Pale Valkyrie Whom Enchantment Keeps.