THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 
17 
But I am born of gods, and turn 
My eyes to thee, thyself divine. 
My vigorous heart and spirit yearn 
With love, my cheeks with passion burn— 
As thy clear eyes may well discern 
By gazing into mine. 
Thy heart is cool, thy cheeks are pale, 
Nor blush with shame like winter wine 
To understand my amorous tale, 
For words and looks of Love must fail 
To touch thee, since a snowy veil 
Is ‘twixt my mind and thine. 
 
 
Dear goddess, at whose early breast 
I drank in all desires and woes ; 
Most reverend god, who oft caressed 
Her pale chaste wifehood, and who pressed 
Upon my forehead kisses blest ; 
Bid blossom out this rose, 
This fair white bud whose heart is pure, 
Whose bosom fears not, neither knows 
The long vague mysteries that endure 
Of life uncertain, of love sure, 
Teach her the mystic overture 
To Love’s transcendant throes.