Enisle, ere it illume your land and sea.
The shell I give you, Ares, not the song
Of murmuring winds and waves once haunting it;
The cage, but not love’s wings that come and go.
I give you them, light brother, as the earth
Gives up the dew, the mountain-side the mist!
Farewell sad face, that gleamed so like a flower
Through Paphian groves to me of old—farewell!
Some Fate beyond our dark-robed Three ordained
This love should wear the mortal rose and not