Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/329

 at the door taps light As the hand of my heart's delight: It is but a full-grown hand, Yet the stroke of it seems to start Hope like a bird in my heart, Too feeble to soar or to stand.

To start light hope from her cover Is to raise but a kite for a plover If her wings be not fledged to soar. Desire, but in dreams, cannot ope The door that was shut upon hope When love went out at the door.

Well were it if vision could keep The lids of desire as in sleep Fast locked, and over his eyes A dream with the dark soft key In her hand might hover, and be Their keeper till morning rise;