Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/165

 And hope not hence for pardon.' Then she bowed Her head, still silent as a stooping cloud, And laid her lips against his face; and he Felt sink a shadow across him as the sea Might feel a cloud stoop toward it: and his heart Darkened as one that wastes by sorcerous art And knows not whence it withers: and he turned Back from her emerald eyes his own, and yearned All night for eyes all golden: and the dark Hung sleepless round him till the loud first lark Rang record forth once more of darkness done, And all things born took comfort from the sun.