Though the last shoreward blossom-fringe was near,

A babe asleep with flower-soft face that gleamed

To sun and seaward as it laughed and dreamed,

Too sure of either love for either's fear,

Albeit so birdlike slight and light, it seemed

Nor man nor mortal child of man, but fair

As even its twin-born tenderer spray-flowers were,

That the wind scatters like an Oread's hair.

For when July strewed fire on earth and sea

The last time ere that year,

Out of the flame of morn Cymothoe

Beheld one brighter than the sunbright sphere

Move toward her from its fieriest heart, whence trod

The live sun's very God,

Across the foam-bright water-ways that are

As heavenlier heavens with star for answering star,

And on her eyes and hair and maiden mouth

Felt a kiss falling fierier than the South

[Pg 296]

And heard above afar

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