24 
THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 
Of perfect love ;  the sin that seeks its home 
In lights and longings frailer than the foam ; 
The sin that loves the hollows of the night, 
The sin that fears ;  the sin that hates the light ; 
The sin that looks with wistful eyes ;  the sin 
That trembles on the olive of the skin ; 
The sin that slumbers ;  these divide the day 
And all the darkness, and deceive, and slay. 
And these regather in the womb of hell 
To marry and increase, and by the spell 
Of their own wickedness discover sin 
Unguessed at, but slow treason creeping in, 
To spread corruption, and destroy the earth. 
But in the holy hour and happy birth 
That swam through stars propitious, meadows 
white, 
And fresh with newer flowers of the night 
In the pale fields supernal, when his sire 
Took from the nurse the child of his desire, 
A man, the prayers of many maidens sent 
So sweet a savour through the firmament 
That no false spirit might draw nigh.  And still 
His angel ministers defend from ill 
The head they nurtured.  Evil dreams and spells, 
Cast at the dimmest hour, the sword repels