And so they toiled together one wan night, When the full moon hung low, and watched, a white Wild wisp-like face behind a mist. They took Blossoms of briars, blooming by a brook Shed from the April hills; and phantom blooms Of yellow broom that filtered faint perfumes; And primrose blossoms, frail, of rainy smell, Weak pink, dim-clustered in a glow-worm dell; Wild-apple sprigs, that tipsied bells of blaze, And in far, haunted hollows made a haze Of ghostly, fugitive fragrance; and the blue Of hollow harebells, hoary with the dew; The gold of kingcups, golden as low stars; And white of lilies,--rolled in limpid bars, Like sleepy foam,--that swayed aslant and spilled Slim nectar-cups of musk the rain had filled; And paly, wildwood wind-flowers; and the gloss And glow of celandine; and bulbs that boss And dot the oak-roots bulging up the moss; Last, on the elfin uplands, pulled the buds, That burn like spurts of moonlight when it suds The showering clouds, of blossomed meadow-sweet, And made a woman fair; from head to feet Complete in beauty. One far lovelier Than Branwen, daughter of the gray King Llyr; Or that dark daughter of Leodegrance, The stately Gwenhwyvar. And young romance Dreamed in the open Bibles of her eyes: Music her motion; and her speech, like sighs Of roses swinging in the wind and rain, And lilies dancing on the sunlit plain: And in her eyes and face there bloomed again The bluebell and the poppy; and fern and bud Gave grace and glory to her maidenhood: And all the attributes of all the flowers Were in her body, that was not like ours And yet was like: but in her brow and face Was love alone and beauty, and no trace, No least suggestion of an earthly pain, Or hate, or sorrow, or of worldly stain; But hope, high heart, and happiness of life. And Blodeuwedd they named her; and, for wife-- Baptizing her with light and dawn and dew-- Gave, that next morning, to the happy Llew. AMADIS AT MIRAFLORES I MORNING The quickening Day climbs to one star, That, cradled, rocks itself in morn; Whose airy opal, flaming far, Makes fire of the mountain tarn. The hosts of morning storm the sky With streaming splendor, their bright lips Blow laughter wild that shakes the rye, And, from the bough, the dew that drips On Oriana walking by. The calling rooks swarm round the towers: A heron sweeps through deeps of glare: And Falconry among the bowers Whistles his falcon down the air: While in the woods the bugled Hunt, With bearded cheeks, blows wild a-mort As dies the boar; or, front to front, Upon the baying hounds, the hart Turns, antlering at the battle's brunt.