2 
THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 
As the nestlings of a dove ; 
We are sheltered in the shadow of thy wing. 
 
 
Are the roses dead to-day ? 
Is the wine spilt ?  Is the flute 
Broken ?  Is thy lover fled ? 
Has the dancer danced away ? 
Is the voice of ocean mute ? 
Is the hour of dreamland dead ? 
Nay, the slumbers of thine head 
Shall be until thy lures. 
Love shall gird thee as a garment while thy very 
life endures 
Sing, lute, sing a sweeter measure, 
Drown the wild discordant notes, 
Life, sob out thy chant of pleasure 
(Love a lure, and life a treasure) 
As a thousand thrushes’ passion 
Throbbed it from a thousand throats, 
In 
the 
wild 
Hesperian 
garden, 
in 
the 
old 
Danaic fashion. 
 
 
Bard of Fate, thy song is ended : 
Splendid it began and splendid