The Tower.
I
THERE lies a City of Unnumbered Dead
Where paths entwine, where hills and valleys be,
And still, black pools; the cypress mystically
Shrouds those dark ways. There living souls may tread
With but slow steps and rare. With slow steps, led
By Love two lovers passed; they spake, and she
Cast down her mystic eyes lest he might see
In their vague depths the image of her dread.
A great round-tower of granite crowns that land.
Thither they came, and now her starry eyes
Were raised to his; that dread which wrought them ill
Behind them with the frozen dead lay chill.
Up the enchanted stairway hand in hand
They passed, and issued forth to see the skies.
II
And yet their sweetest moment did not seem
That dizzying issue into tenuous light,
Where the keen salt-sea wind that lashed their height
Drowned their love-quickened breath as in a stream
Of chill, on-rushing æther; not the gleam
Of multitudinous Ocean, nor the bright
Expanse of Earth could draw their dazzled sight
From the new glory of their passionate dream.
It was upon the tower’s midmost stair
At one dim diamond-window; both beguiled
Paused in the gloom; she trembled like a child;
His hot mouth found her mouth, her gold-twined hair,
And in her milk-white breast her heart beat wild
Beneath one burning kiss he printed there.