Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/19



in dreams a place of wind and flowers, Full of sweet trees and colour of glad grass, In midst whereof there was A lady clothed like summer with sweet hours. Her beauty, fervent as a fiery moon, Made my blood burn and swoon Like a flame rained upon. Sorrow had filled her shaken eyelids’ blue, And her mouth’s sad red heavy rose all through Seemed sad with glad things gone.

She held a little cithern by the strings, Shaped heartwise, strung with subtle-coloured hair Of some dead lute-player That in dead years had done delicious things.