THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 
45 
Thrust up by magic, in the direst pangs 
Of Earth, when Earth was yet a whirling cloud 
Of fire and adamant, a ceaseless crowd 
Of rushing atoms roaring into space, 
Driven by demons from before the Face. 
And these gleamed white, while Helios lit the 
heaven, 
Like tusks ;  but at the coming of the even 
Were visions wonderful with indigo ; 
And in the glory of the afterglow 
Were rosy with its kiss ;  and in the night 
Were crowned with that unutterable light 
That is a brilliance of solemn black, 
Glistening wide across the ocean track 
Of white-sailed ships and many mariners. 
So, on the tallest spire, where wakes and whirrs 
The eagle when dawn strikes his eyrie, came 
The maiden, clad in the abundant flame 
Of setting sun, with shapely shoulders bare, 
And even the glory of her midday hair 
Was bound above her head ;  so, naked pure, 
Fixed in that purpose, which the gods endure 
With calm despair, the purpose to be passed 
Into the circle, that, serene and vast, 
Girds all, and is itself the All—to die—