crash of broken spears, the fiery gleam From shivered helm, the Grecian battle-cry?

p. 57

Nay, thou wert hidden in that hollow hill With one who is forgotten utterly, That discrowned Queen men call the Erycine; Hidden away that never mightst thou see The face of Her, before whose mouldering shrine To-day at Rome the silent nations kneel; Who gat from Love no joyous gladdening, But only Love’s intolerable pain, Only a sword to pierce her heart in twain, Only the bitterness of child-bearing.

The lotus-leaves which heal the wounds of Death Lie in thy hand; O, be thou kind to me, While yet I know the summer of my days; For hardly can my tremulous lips draw breath To fill the silver trumpet with thy praise, So bowed am I before thy mystery; So bowed and broken on Love’s terrible wheel, That I have lost all hope and heart to sing, Yet care I not what ruin time may bring If in thy temple thou wilt let me kneel.

p. 58Alas, alas, thou wilt not tarry here, But, like that bird, the servant of the sun, Who flies before the north wind and the night, So wilt thou fly our evil land and drear, Back to the tower of thine old delight, And the red lips of young Euphorion; Nor shall I ever see thy face again, But in this poisonous garden-close must stay, Crowning my brows with the thorn-crown of pain, Till all my loveless life shall pass away.

p. 58

O Helen! Helen! Helen! yet a while, Yet for a little while, O, tarry here, Till the dawn cometh and the shadows flee! For in the gladsome sunlight of thy smile Of heaven or hell I have no thought or fear, Seeing I know no other god but thee: No other god save him, before whose feet In nets of gold the tired planets move, The incarnate spirit of spiritual love Who in thy body holds his joyous seat.

Thou wert not born as common women are! But, girt with silver splendour of the foam, Didst from the depths of sapphire seas arise! And at thy coming some immortal star, p. 59Bearded with flame, blazed in the Eastern skies, And waked the shepherds on thine island-home. Thou shalt not die: no asps of Egypt creep Close at thy heels to taint the delicate air; No sullen-blooming poppies stain thy hair, Those scarlet heralds of eternal sleep.

p. 59

Lily of love, pure and inviolate! Tower of ivory! red rose of fire! Thou hast come down our darkness to illume: For we, close-caught in the wide nets 

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