But when the brow is blighted, like a star at morning tide, And faded is the crimson blush upon the cheek beside: It is to love as seldom love, the brightest and the best, When our love lies like a dew upon the one that is at rest, Because of hopes that fallen are changing to despair, And the heart is always dreaming on the ruin that is there. Oh, true! ’tis weary, weary, to be gazing over thee, And the light of thy pure vision breaketh never upon me! He lifts her in his arms, and o’er and o’er, Upon the brow of chilliness and hoar, Repeats a silent kiss:—along the side Of the lone bark, he leans that pallid bride, Until the waves do image her within Their bosom, like a spectre—’tis a sin Too deadly to be shadow’d or forgiven To do such mockery in the sight of Heaven! And bid her gaze into the startled sea, And say, “Thy image, from eternity, Hath come to meet thee, ladye!” and anon He bade the cold corse kiss the shadowy one, That shook amid the waters, like the light Of borealis in a winter night! And after, he did strain her sea-wet hair Between his chilly fingers, with a stare Of mystery, that marvell’d how that she Had drench’d it so amid the moonlit sea. The morning rose, with breast of living gold, Like eastern phœnix, and his plumage roll’d In clouds of molted brilliance, very bright! And on the waste of waters floated light.— In truth, ’twas strange to see that merry bark Skimming the silver ocean, like a shark At play amid the beautiful sea-green, And all so sadly desolate within.