For I came home right heavy, with small cheer, And lo my love, mine own soul's heart, more dear Than mine own soul, more beautiful than God, Who hath my being between the hands of her-- Fair still, but fair for no man saving me, As when she came out of the naked sea Making the foam as fire whereon she trod, And as the inner flower of fire was she. Yea, she laid hold upon me, and her mouth Clove unto mine as soul to body doth, And, laughing, made her lips luxurious; Her hair had smells of all the sunburnt south, Strange spice and flower, strange savour of crushed fruit, And perfume the swart kings tread underfoot For pleasure when their minds wax amorous, Charred frankincense and grated sandal-root. And I forgot fear and all weary things, All ended prayers and perished thanksgivings, Feeling her face with all her eager hair Cleave to me, clinging as a fire that clings To the body and to the raiment, burning them; As after death I know that such-like flame Shall cleave to me for ever; yea, what care, Albeit I burn then, having felt the same? Ah love, there is no better life than this; To have known love, how bitter a thing it is, And afterward be cast out of God's sight; Yea, these that know not, shall they have such bliss High up in barren heaven before his face As we twain in the heavy-hearted place, Remembering love and all the dead delight, And all that time was sweet with for a space? For till the thunder in the trumpet be, Soul may divide from body, but not we One from another; I hold thee with my hand, I let mine eyes have all their will of thee, I seal myself upon thee with my might, Abiding alway out of all men's sight Until God loosen over sea and land The thunder of the trumpets of the night. EXPLICIT LAUS VENERIS. PHÆDRA HIPPOLYTUS; PHÆDRA; CHORUS OF TROEZENIAN WOMEN HIPPOLYTUS. Lay not thine hand upon me; let me go; Take off thine eyes that put the gods to shame; What, wilt thou turn my loathing to thy death? PHÆDRA. Nay, I will never loosen hold nor breathe Till thou have slain me; godlike for great brows Thou art, and thewed as gods are, with clear hair: Draw now thy sword and smite me as thou art god, For verily I am smitten of other gods, Why not of thee? CHORUS. O queen, take heed of words; Why wilt thou eat the husk of evil speech? Wear wisdom for that veil about thy head And goodness for the binding of thy brows. PHÆDRA.