Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/174

 Took fire and kindled to the quivering hair. And in the dark soft hour of starriest air Thrilled through with sense of midnight, when the world Feels the wide wings of sleep about it furled, Down stole the queen, deep-muffled to her wan Mute restless lips, and came where yet the Swan Swung fast at anchor: whence by starlight she Hoised snowbright sails, and took the glimmering sea. But all the long night long more keen and sore His wound's grief waxed in Tristram evermore, And heavier always hung his heart asway Between dim fear and clouded hope of day. And still with face and heart at silent strife Beside him watched the maiden called his wife, Patient, and spake not save when scarce he spake, Murmuring with sense distraught and spirit awake Speech bitterer than the words thereof were sweet: And hatred thrilled her to the hands and feet, Listening: for alway back reiterate came The passionate faint burden of her name. Nor ever through the labouring lips astir Came any word of any thought of her. But the soul wandering struggled and clung hard Only to dreams of joy in Joyous Gard Or wildwood nights beside the Cornish strand, Or Merlin's holier sleep here hard at hand Wrapped round with deep soft spells in dim Broceliande. And with such thirst as joy's drained wine-cup leaves