Collected Works (Vol. I)

124 MYSTERIES: LYRICAL AND DRAMATIC Your lips’ perfume 3 like lilies on the sea Your white breasts glimmer; let us wait awhile. There is no breeze to drive us down to lee On the cold rocks of yonder icy isle, And your sire’s passion must forget the chase As I forget, the moment that you smile, And sea and sky are brighter for your face— I hear the sound of many oars ; perchance Your father’s, but within this iron place The heavy dragons will not dare advance Where our light vessel barely skimmed the rock : Their anger may grow cool, the while they dance Like fools before the bar we crossed, and mock Pursuit. Behold! one dragon strikes the reef, ) Breaks in the midst before the dreadful shock, Shattered and stricken by the rousing sheaf Of wild intolerable foam that breaks Full on their stem: she sinks. One fierce foul thief Springs desperate upon her poop; she shakes; He strings a sudden arrow. Ocean sweeps Over his curséd craft. The arrow takes The straight swift road—-Ah God !—to her who sleeps, To her bright bosom as at peace she lies. She is dead quickly, and the ocean keeps The secret of my sorrow from her eyes. I will not weep; I cannot weep; I turn And watch the sail fill with the wind that sighs A little for pure pity—I discern The cowards shake with fear; the vessel springs Light to the breezes, as the golden erne That seeks a prey on its impetuous wings : The reef is past; I crash upon the foe, And all the fury of my weapon rings On armour temperless ; the waters flow Through the dark rent within the side; I leap Back to my dead love; back, desiring so ‘That they had killed me, for [ cannot weep. They killed her, and a mist of blood consumes My sight ; they killed my lover in her sleep. The breeze has freshened, and the water fumes, The vessel races on beneath the sky ; Beneath herjbows the eager billow spumes. I wonder whither, and I wonder why. No ray of light this sea of blood illumes. I wonder whether God will let me die. IN THE WOODS WITH SHELLEY. SING, happy nightingale, sing; Past is the season of weeping ; Birds in the wood are on wing, Lambs in the meadow are leaping. Can there be any delight still in the butter- cups sleeping? Dawn, paler daffodil, dawn ; Smile, for the winter is over ; Sunlight makes golden the lawn, Spring comes and kisses the clover ; All the wild woodlands await poet and songster and lover.