Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/72

 Spake words that love might wellnigh seem to hear In such deep hours as turn delight to fear Sweet as delight's self ever. So they lay Tranced once, nor watched along the fiery bay The shine of summer darkness palpitate and play. She had nor sight nor voice; her swooning eyes Knew not if night or light were in the skies; Across her beauty sheer the moondawn shed Its light as on a thing as white and dead; Only with stress of soft fierce hands she prest Between the throbbing blossoms of her breast His ardent face, and through his hair her breath Went quivering as when life is hard on death; And with strong trembling fingers she strained fast His head into her bosom; till at last, Satiate with sweetness of that burning bed, His eyes afire with tears, he raised his head And laughed into her lips; and all his heart Filled hers; then face from face fell, and apart Each hung on each with panting lips, and felt Sense into sense and spirit in spirit melt. 'Hast thou no sword? I would not live till day; O love, this night and we must pass away, It must die soon, and let not us die late.' 'Take then my sword and slay me; nay, but wait Till day be risen; what, wouldst thou think to die Before the light take hold upon the sky?' 'Yea, love; for how shall we have twice, being twain, This very night of love's most rapturous reign?