54 
THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 
O dear Uranian night !  O happy hours ! 
Will they be long returning on their track ? 
Will my gold mane grow grey and know 
them not ? 
Will my heart’s fibers long endure the rack 
That tears them now—the fear I am forgot ? 
Nay, but I fear not :  I well know your lips 
Yearn over moor and marsh for me, your 
hand 
Misses no moment but its marble slips 
In your bright tunic, as the little ships 
That seek a harbour by some rocky strand, 
To take your pipe, and play at love’s demand 
Some tender song I sung you long ago 
To lume again some first sweet maiden glow 
Of shy desire that I knew not all it said. 
Will the days lengthen for sheer weariness ? 
Will they pursue us till they strike us dead ? 
Or will our love put on a spring-time dress 
And burn and bloom and burgeon into leaf, 
And rose-leaves cover quite the urn of grief ? 
Yes, you shall call me to your side, to speed 
Fast as love ever flies, to yonder south, 
Where my young bosom shall be taught to 
bleed,