His, nor from height nor deep.

But heaven was as red iron, slumberless,

And had no heart to bless;

And earth lay sere and darkling as distraught,

And help in her was nought.

Then many a midnight, many a morn and even,

His mother, passing forth of her fair heaven,

With goodlier gifts than all save gods can give

From earth or from the heaven where sea-things live,

With shine of sea-flowers through the bay-leaf braid

Woven for a crown her foam-white hands had made

To crown him with land's laurel and sea-dew,

Sought the sea-bird that was her boy: but he

Sat panther-throned beside Erigone,

Riding the red ways of the revel through

Midmost of pale-mouthed passion's crownless crew.

[Pg 308]

Till on some winter's dawn of some dim year

He let the vine-bit on the panther's lip

Slide, and the green rein slip,

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