Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/153

 Rose not less radiant than the sun sees now When the autumn sea was cloven of Tristram's prow, And strong in sorrow and hope and woful will That hope might move not nor might sorrow kill He held his way back toward the wild sad shore Whence he should come to look on these no more, Nor ever, save with sunless eyes shut fast, Sail home to sleep in home-born earth at last. And all these things fled fleet as light or breath Past, and his heart waxed cold and dull as death, Or swelled but as the tides of sorrow swell, To sink with sullen sense of slow farewell. So surely seemed the silence even to sigh Assurance of inveterate prophecy, 'Thou shalt not come again home hither ere thou die.' And the wind mourned and triumphed, and the sea Wailed and took heart and trembled; nor might he Hear more of comfort in their speech, or see More certitude in all the waste world's range Than the only certitude of death and change. And as the sense and semblance fluctuated Of all things heard and seen alive or dead That smote far off upon his ears or eyes Or memory mixed with forecasts fain to rise And fancies faint as ghosthest prophecies, So seemed his own soul, changefully forlorn, To shrink and triumph and mount up and mourn; Yet all its fitful waters, clothed with night, Lost heart not wholly, lacked not wholly light, Seeing over life and death one star in sight