Page:Where the Dead Men Lie.djvu/107

 She claps her hands, and her henchman hurries West on the sunset sheen: ’Tis he who comes when a mist-wrack scurries, Skirting the deep ravine; And my heart is stirred by the loving word He carries me from my queen.

A drop distilled from a lotos flower— That is the magic key To unlock the cage, and my soul has power To gather itself and flee, At my love’s behest, where she waits her guest In a palace beneath the sea.

Joy is ours that is almost anguish: Pain that is almost sweet: We kiss; and the ocean creatures languish Jealously at our feet: The sight grows dim, and the senses swim When I and my lady greet.

There to dream, while the soul is swooning Under a woven spell— Hushed to sleep by her tender crooning Learnt from the ocean swell— There to rest on her jewelled breast, To love and be loved as well!