Page:Songs of the Springtides - Swinburne (1880).pdf/88

 Or haply, my sea-flower, he found thee Made fast as with anchors to land, And broke, that his waves might be round thee, Thy fetters like rivets of sand? And afar by the blast of him drifted Thy blossom of beauty was borne, As a lark by the heart in her lifted To mix with the morn?

By what rapture of rage, by what vision Of a heavenlier heaven than above, Was he moved to devise thy division From the land as a rest for his love? As a nest when his wings would remeasure The ways where of old they would be, As a bride-bed upbuilt for his pleasure By sea-rock and sea?