Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/204

 Far on high sublimely stablished, whereof only Heaven is father; nor did birth of mortal mould Bring them forth, nor shall oblivion lull to lonely ''Slumber. Great in these is God, and grows not old.'' Therefore even that inner darkness where she perished Surely seems as holy and lovely, seen aright, As desirable and as dearly to be cherished, As the haunt closed in with laurels from the light, Deep inwound with olive and wild vine inwoven, Where a godhead known and unknown makes men pale, But the darkness of the twilight noon is cloven Still with shrill sweet moan of many a nightingale. Closer clustering there they make sweet noise together, Where the fearful gods look gentler than our fear, And the grove thronged through with birds of holiest feather Grows nor pale nor dumb with sense of dark things near. There her father, called upon with signs of wonder, Passed with tenderest words away by ways unknown, Not by sea-storm stricken down, nor touched of thunder, To the dark benign deep underworld, alone.