At length they came to a melodious marge Where with sweet perturbation the moved sea Crept lovingly about the land in large Embrace and from such soft nativity The music mounted in dissolving key And wed with wind. There in a crescent cove Sun-lorn and still, the eyes of each leaped free And all the world in a wild silence strove To bare its spirit in their breathed words of love. “O Sweet, my Sweet,” the knight quoth reverently, “Lo now the marvel: That I wearied sore On such a singing earth as this to be One whom the gods give ever one gift more! There is no spot from shore to patient shore That is not burdened with its waiting bliss; O yet, dear love, how little bliss it bore Were you not near to tremble at my kiss. At last we know the truth: The best of life is this.” Slow-dipped the idle sail without the bay Sun-smitten in the drowsy afternoon; Unimaged in the ripples’ purple play White reefs of clouds on airy shores were strewn. All fairly the shadows fell and soon When gloaming was poured soft on beach and foam The sea gave up a silver shell--the moon. Then tenderly she turned who longed to roam Afar and whispered: “Love, would that our way led home!” Nearby upon a rainbow drift of weeds The old nurse mumbled at her prayers and charms, And now her shaking fingers felt her beads, And now in incantation her old arms Were raised to shadowy powers. O grim alarms Beset the gaping ones when love appears! And never lovers’ glance or kiss half warms The world but that some dotard nods and leers And all the charnel souls are tip-toe with their fears. Now silently across the glimmering sands Slow-paced the lady and the stranger knight, And there were clinging lips and clinging hands And all the uses of the hour were bright; But when they came to where the moon was white Upon the wet weeds, there the old dame lay Stark on the sea-moss and the labyrinth light Received her soul that knew it not. There may Be heaven for such as mock at love but none can say. Upon the sands the lady knelt and wept; Her lover kissed away her pitying tears; “Nay, tender soul,” he said, “we have but kept The truce of nature with the yester-years. Now are the old things passed away, and fears For the new day are vain. Therefore arise. Love vanquishes the past itself. Love hears The siren cities chant of home. Love’s eyes Have lit a sullen world for me to Paradise.”