The walrus ivory lay in heaps Half-buried in the shore, The slow stream slid o'er unknown beds Of golden ore, Washings of amber to the beach Light waves bore. Sprays of white, like foam-flowers, Betwixt the skies and seas, Swayed and poised the sea-gulls In twos and threes, Clustered like the stars men call Pleiades. The white marsh-flowers, the white marsh-grass Shimmered amid the grey Of the marsh-water--mirrored Over and under, they Stood stiff and tall and slender, All one way. The upper spake to the lower, "Are ye, or do ye seem?" Out of the dim marsh-water Glided as in a dream The still swans down a distance Of moonbeam. The willow-warbler dropped from the spray Sweet notes like a soft spring shower, There was a twitter of building birds In the blackthorn bower, All broken from bare to gossamer In an hour. A garden white lay all the land In wreaths of summer snow, The heart of the year upspringing Swift and aglow, In pale flame and slender stalk, Smooth and low. The white heath and white harebell Let their chimes rise and fall, The delicate sheets of wood-sorrel Unfolded all, For a bed of bridal-- Or a pall? Powdered with pearl, auriculas, And beds of snowdrop sheen, Frostwork of saxifrage, and fair balls Of winter green: There was no room for foot to pass In between. One only pink, the fragrant bloom Of all blooms boreal, Every face of every flower With looks funereal Bent to earth, and faintly Flowering all. Down in the closely crowded camp Of the fresh snowdrops lay, Fever and famine-stricken, None his name to say, Sick to death, a traveller Cast away. Brother might be of Balder The beautiful, the bold, By Northern stature and by limbs' Heroic mould, And the uncurled faint hair Of pale gold. Faintly the words were uttered, Low, betwixt moan and moan: "Here in the wilderness, Lost and alone, I die, and far away, Hast thou known? "Fame, and story of wonder, Wind of rumour had blown My name to thine, my feet Up to thy throne: What has the world been since?-- Thee alone. "I passed and bowed before thy face, And once thine eyes met mine; Once I have kissed thy hand;-- Hast thou no sign? Here with my last sad breath I am thine." The white hares nibbled fearlessly Among the tender green; The silver foxes stayed and watched, Quick-eyed and keen; The little ermine soft of foot Stole between. But the white world changed and quickened To a red world, the same; For with splendour as of sunset And sunrise flame, From the highest heaven to the lowest, Midnight came. The pulsing colours of the sky Deepened and purified; All glorious chords of gold and red