Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/136

 As though God's wrath would burn up sin with shame, The incensed red gold of deepening heaven grew flame: The sweet green spaces of the soft low sky Faded, as fields that withering wind leaves dry: The sea's was like a doomsman's blasting breath From lips afoam with ravenous lust of death. A night like desolation, sombre-starred, Above the great walled girth of Joyous Gard Spread forth its wide sad strength of shadow and gloom Wherein those twain were compassed round with doom: Hell from beneath called on them, and she heard Reverberate judgment in the wild wind's word Cry, till the sole sound of their names that rang Clove all the sea-mist with a clarion's clang, And clouds to clouds and flames to clustering flames Beat back the dark noise of the direful names. Fear and strong exultation caught her breath, And triumph like the bitterness of death, And rapture like the rage of hate allayed With ruin and ravin that its might hath made; And her heart swelled and strained itself to hear What may be heard of no man's hungering ear, And as a soil that cleaves in twain for drouth Thirsted for judgment given of God's own mouth Against them, till the strength of dark desire Was in her as a flame of hell's own fire. Nor seemed the wrath which held her spirit in stress Aught else or worse than passionate holiness,