Page:Studies in Song - Swinburne (1880).djvu/123

 Still is the sunset adrift as a spirit in doubt that dissembles Still with itself, being sick of division and dimmed by dismay— Nay, not so; but with love and delight beyond passion it trembles, Fearful and fain of the night, lovely with love of the day: Fain and fearful of rest that is like unto death, and begotten Out of the womb of the tomb, born of the seed of the grave: Lovely with shadows of loves that are only not wholly forgotten, Only not wholly suppressed by the dark as a wreck by the wave.