Page:Studies in Song - Swinburne (1880).djvu/205

 For a season his wings are about her, His breath on her lips for a space; Such rapture he wins not without her In the width of his worldwide race. Though the forests bow down, and the mountains Wax dark, and the tribes of them flee, His delight is more deep in the fountains And springs of the sea.

There are those too of mortals that love him, There are souls that desire and require, Be the glories of midnight above him Or beneath him the daysprings of fire: