Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/211

 Did he find out in fire at his waking, Or discern as his eyelids lost light, When the bands of the body were breaking And all came in sight?

Who has known all the evil before us, Or the tyrannous secrets of time? Though we match not the dead men that bore us At a song, at a kiss, at a crime― Though the heathen outface and outlive us, And our lives and our longings are twain― Ah, forgive us our virtues, forgive us, Our Lady of Pain.

Who are we that embalm and embrace thee With spices and savours of song? What is time, that his children should face thee? What am I, that my lips do thee wrong? I could hurt thee―but pain would delight thee; Or caress thee―but love would repel; And the lovers whose lips would excite thee Are serpents in hell.

Who now shall content thee as they did, Thy lovers, when temples were built And the hair of the sacrifice braided And the blood of the sacrifice spilt, In Lampsacus fervent with faces, In Aphaca red from thy reign,