Page:Studies in Song - Swinburne (1880).djvu/43

 And as the wind's own spirit her breath was free And as the heaven's own heart her soul was proud, But freer and prouder stood no son than he Of all she bare before her heart was bowed; None higher than he who heard Medea's keen last word Transpierce her traitor, and like a rushing cloud That sundering shows a star Saw pass her thunderous car And a face whiter and deadlier than a shroud That lightened from it, and the brand Of tender blood that falling seared his suppliant hand.

More fair than all things born and slain of fate, More glorious than all births of days and nights,