84 
THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 
In the arms of love we lie ; 
Music from the sky 
Tunes the hymeneal lyre that will echo till we 
die. 
God we feel is very nigh ; 
Soft, breeze, sigh 
While we kiss at last to slumber, 
And the varied number 
Of the forest songsters cry : 
This is immortality ;  this is happiness for aye. 
 
Hush ! the music swells apace, 
Rolls its silver billows up 
Through the void demesne of space 
To the heavens’ azure cup ! 
Hush, my love, and sleep shall sigh 
This is immortality !