Jephthah and Other Mysteries

LYRICAL AND DRAMATIC. 87 And see myself no longer in her eyes So perfectly as here, where passion lies Buried and re-arisen and complete. O happy life too sweet, too perfect sweet, O happy love too perfectly made one Not to arouse the envy of the sun Who sulks six months for spite of it! O love, Too pure and fond for those pale gods above, Too perfect for their iron rods to break, Arise, awake, and die for death’s own sake That one forgetfulness may take us three, Still three, still one, to the Lethean sea, That all its waters may be sweet as those We wandered by, sweet sisters of the rose, That perfect night before we fled, we two Who were so silent down that avenue Grown golden with the moonlight, who should be No longer two, but one; nor one, but three. And now it is the spring, the ice is breaking, The waters roar, the winds their wings are shaking To sweep upon the northland ; we shall sail Under the summer perfume of the gale To some old valley where the altars steam Before the gods, and where the maidens dream Their little lives away, and where the trees Shake laughing tresses at the rising breeze, And where the wells of water lie profound, And not unfrequent is the silver sound Of shepherds tuneful as the leaves are green, Whose reedy music echoes, clear and clean,