Page:Songs of the Springtides - Swinburne (1880).pdf/85

 I knew not, mother of mine, That one birth more divine Than all births else of thine That hang like flowers or jewels on thy deep soft breast Was left for me to shine Above thy girdling line Of bright and breathing brine, To take mine eyes with rapture and my sense with rest.

That this was left for me, Mother, to have of thee, To touch, to taste, to see, To feel as fire fulfilling all my blood and breath, As wine of living fire Keen as the heart's desire That makes the heart its pyre And on its burning visions burns itself to death.