THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 
21 
The sound stood trembling in the forest dim 
Lingering a little, yet there taketh him 
A strong man’s one short moment of despair. 
He fell, the last of Titans, his loose hair 
Tangled in roses ;  while his heart and mind 
Broken and yet imperishable, blind, 
Hateful, desire they know not what, and turn 
Lastly to pray for death ;  his wild eyes burn, 
And bitter tears divide his doubtful breath. 
So grew his anguish to accomplish death, 
Had not the goddess with the rosy shoon 
Stooped o’er the silver surface of the moon 
To touch his brow with slumber, like a kiss 
Whose dreams perfused the name of Archais, 
Till the sweet odour dulled his brain, and sleep 
Loosened his limbs, most dreamless and most 
deep. 
The mosses serve him for a bed ;  the trees 
Wave in the moonlight, daughters of the breeze ; 
Hardly the pleasant waters seem to shake, 
And only nightingales, for slumber’s sake, 
Lull the soft stars and seas, and matchless music 
make. 
 
And now the sun is risen above the deep,