"'Thine, sweet, a devil's kindness which is given

      For earthly pleasure but bars out from Heaven.

      Temptation harbored, like a bloody rust

      On a bright blade, leaves ugly stains; and lust

      Is love's undoing when love's limbs are cast

      A commonness to desire that makes unchaste;

      And this warm nearness of what should be hid

      Makes love a lawless love. But, thou hast bid; —

      Rest thou; I love thee, how, – I only know:

      But all that love shall shout "out!" at love's foe.'

      And turning sighed into my hair; and she

      Stretched the broad blade's division suddenly.

      And so we lay its fire between us twain;

      Unsleeping I, for, oh, that devil pain

      Of passion in me that strove up and stood

      A rebel wrangling with the brain and blood!

      An hour stole by: she slept or seemed to sleep.

      The winds of night came vigorous from the deep

      With storm gusts of fresh-watered field and wold

      That breathed of ocean meadows bluely rolled.

      I drowsed and time passed; stealing as for one

      Whose drowsy life dreams in Avilion.

      Vast bulks of black, wind-shattered rack went down

      High casement squares of heaven, a crystal crown

      Of bubbled moonlight on each monstrous head,

      Like as great ghosts of giant kings long dead.

      And then, meseemed, she lightly laughed and sighed,

      So soft a taper had not bent aside,

      And leaned a soft face seen thro' loosened hair

      Above me, whisp'ring as if sweet in prayer,

      'Behold, the sword! I take the sword away!'

      It curved and clashed where the strewn rushes lay;

      Shone glassy, glittering like a watery beam

      Of moonlight in the moonlight. I did deem

      She moved in sleep and dreamed perverse, nor wist

      That which she did until two fierce lips kissed

      My wondering eyes to wakement of her thought.

      Then spake I, 'Love, my word! is it then naught?

      Nay, nay, my word albeit the sword be gone! —

      And wouldst thou try me? rest thou safe till dawn!

      I will not thus forswear! my word stands fast!'

      But now I felt hot, desperate kisses cast

      On hair, eyes, throat and lips and over and over,

      Low laughter of 'Sweet wretch! and thou – a lover?

      What is that word if she thou gavest it

      Unbind thee of it? lo, and she sees fit!'

      Ah, Morgane, Morgane, then I knew 'twas thou,

      Thou! thou! who only could such joy allow."

      "And, oh, unburied passion of that night;

      The sleepy birds too early piped of light;

      Too soon came Light girt with a rosy breeze,

      Strong from his bath, to wrestle with the trees,

      A thewy hero; and, alas! too soon

      Our scutcheoned oriel stained was overstrewn

      Of Dawn's air-jewels; then I sang a strain

      Of sleep that in my memory strives again:

      "Ethereal limbed the lovely Sleep should sit,

      Her starbeam locks with some vague splendor lit,

      Like that the glow-worm's emerald radiance sheds

      Thro' twilight dew-drops globed on lily-beds.

      Her face as fair as if of graven stone,

      Yet dim and airy us a cloud alone

      In the bare blue of Heaven, smiling sweet,

      For languorous thoughts of love that flit and fleet

      Short-rainbow-winged about her crumpled hair;

      Yet on her brow a pensiveness more fair,

      Ungraspable and sad and lost, I wist,

      Than thoughts of maiden whom her love hath kissed,

      Who knows, thro' deepening eyes and drowsy breath,

      Him weeping bent whiles she drifts on to death.

      Full sweet and sorrowful and blithe withal

      Should be her brow; not wholly spiritual,

      But tinged with mortal for the mortal mind,

      And smote with flushings from some Eden wind;

      Hinting at heart's ease and a god's desire

      Of pleasure hastening in a garb of fire

      From some dim country over storied seas

      Glassed of content and foamed of mysteries.

      Her ears two sea-pearls' morning-tender pink,

      And strung to harkening as if on a brink

      Night