No gift of man that king may give to slave,
But this thy crowned queen only, this thy wife.’”
Swinburne. Tristram of Lyonesse.
With flow exhaustless of alliterate words,
And rhymes that mate in music glad as birds
That feel the spring’s sweet life among light leaves
That ardent breath of amorous May upheaves
And kindles fluctuant to an emerald fire
Bright as the imperious seas that all men’s souls desire:
With long strong swell of alexandrine lines,