Page:Studies in Song - Swinburne (1880).djvu/45

 Or, sweeter than the breathless buds when spring With smiles and tears and kisses bids them breathe, Fell with its music from his quiring string Fragrance of pine-leaves and odorous heath Twined round the lute whereto he sighed to sing Of the oak that screened and showed its maid beneath, Who seeing her bee crawl back with broken wing Faded, a fairer flower than all her wreath, And paler, though her oak Stood scathless of the stroke More sharp than edge of axe or wolfish teeth, That mixed with mortals dead Her own half heavenly head And life incorporate with a sylvan sheath, And left the wild rose and the dove A secret place and sacred from all guests but Love.