Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/45

 'Great pity it is and strange it seems to me God could not do them so much right as we, Who slay not men for witless evil done; And these the noblest under God's glad sun For sin they knew not he that knew shall slay, And smite blind men for stumbling in fair day. What good is it to God that such should die? Shall the sun's light grow sunnier in the sky Because their light of spirit is clean put out?' And sighing, she looked from wave to cloud about, And even with that the full-grown feet of day Sprang upright on the quivering water-way, And his face burned against her meeting face Most like a lover's thrilled with great love's grace Whose glance takes fire and gives; the quick sea shone And shivered like spread wings of angels blown By the sun's breath before him; and a low Sweet gale shook all the foam-flowers of thin snow As into rainfall of sea-roses shed Leaf by wild leaf on that green garden-bed Which tempests till and sea-winds turn and plough: For rosy and fiery round the running prow Fluttered the flakes and feathers of the spray, And bloomed like blossoms cast by God away To waste on the ardent water; swift the moon Withered to westward as a face in swoon Death-stricken by glad tidings: and the height Throbbed and the centre quivered with delight