Long ago, ah, white as the Huntress, cold and sweet as the petals that crowned her,
Fair and fleet as the fawn that shakes the dew from the fern at break of day,
Wreathed with the clouds of her dusky hair that swept in a sun-bright glory around her,
Down to the valley her light feet stole, ah, soft as the budding of flowers in May.
Down to the valley she came, for far and far below in the dreaming meadows
Pleaded ever the Voice of voices, calling his love by her golden name;
So she arose from her home in the hills, and down through the blossoms that danced with their shadows,
Out of the blue of the dreaming distance, down to the heart of her lover she came.
* * * *
Red were the lips that hovered above her lips in the flowery haze of the June-day:
Red as a rose through the perfumed mist of passion that reeled before her eyes;
Strong the smooth young sunburnt arms that folded her heart to his heart in the noon-day,
Strong and supple with throbbing sunshine under the blinding southern skies.
Ah, the kisses, the little murmurs, mad with pain for their phantom fleetness,
Mad with pain for the passing of love that lives, they dreamed—as we dream—for an hour!
Ah, the sudden tempest of passion, mad with pain, for its over-sweetness,
As petal by petal and pang by pang their love broke out into perfect flower.
Ah, the wonder as once he wakened, out of a dream of remembered blisses,
Couched in the meadows of dreaming blossom to feel, like the touch of a flower on his eyes,
Cool and fresh with the fragment dews of dawn the touch of her light swift kisses,
Shed from the shadowy rose of her face between his face and the warm blue skies.
II
Lost in his new desire
He dreamed away the hours;
His lyre
Lay buried in the flowers:
To whom the King of Heaven,
Apollo, lord of light,
Had given
Beauty and love and might:
Might, if he would, to slay
All evil dreams and pierce
The grey
Veil of the Universe;