And feeling it she shuddered, and her teeth Grated on edge; for there was something strange And snake-like in the touch. He, in exchange, Gave back to her, stretching his eager neck, For every kiss a little amorous peck; Rubbing his silver head on her gold tresses, And with the nip of horny dry caresses Leaving upon her young white breast and cheek And arms the red print of his playful beak. Closer he nestled, mingling with the slim Austerity of virginal flank and limb His curved and florid beauty, till she felt That downy warmth strike through her flesh and melt The bones and marrow of her strength away. One lifted arm bent o’er her brow, she lay With limbs relaxed, scarce breathing, deathly still; Save when a quick, involuntary thrill Shook her sometimes with passing shudderings, As though some hand had plucked the aching strings Of life itself, tense with expectancy. And over her the swan shook slowly free The folded glory of his wings, and made A white-walled tent of soft and luminous shade To be her veil and keep her from the shame Of naked light and the sun’s noonday flame. Hushed lay the earth and the wide, careless sky. Then one sharp sound, that might have been a cry Of utmost pleasure or of utmost pain, Broke sobbing forth, and all was still again. THE BIRTH OF GOD NIGHT is a void about me; I lie alone; And water drips, like an idiot clicking his tongue, Senselessly, ceaselessly, endlessly drips Into the waiting silence, grown Emptier for this small inhuman sound. My love is gone, my love who is tender and young. O smooth warm body! O passionate lips! I have stretched forth hands in the dark and nothing found: The silence is huge as the sky—I lie alone— My narrow room, a darkness that knows no bound. How shall I fill this measureless Deep void that the taking away Of a child’s slim beauty has made? Slender she is and small, but the loneliness She has left is a night no stars allay, And I am cold and afraid. Long, long ago, cut off from the wolfish pack, From the warm, immediate touch of friends and mate, Lost and alone, alone in the utter black Of a forest night, some far-off, beast-like man, Cowed by the cold indifferent hate Of the northern silence, crouched in fear, When through his bleared and suffering mind A sudden tremor of comfort ran, And the void was filled by a rushing wind, And he breathed a sense of something friendly and near, And in privation the life of God began.