Page:Songs of the Springtides - Swinburne (1880).pdf/138

 On dying lips alit That living knew not it, In the winged shape of song with death to play: To warm young children with its wings,

For all worst wants of all most miserable With divine hands to deal All balms and herbs that heal, Among all woes whereunder poor men dwell Our Master sent his servant Love, to be On earth his witness; but the strange deep sea, Mother of life and death inextricate, What work should Love do there, to war with fate? Yet there must Love too keep At heart of the eyeless deep Watch, and wage war wide-eyed with all its wonders,