Night in the forest, and noon on the wave?
Fierce as a festival, fragrant and fading—
Grim as the grandeur that dreams of a day—
Is there no balm in Love’s lavish unlading,
Born in the brightness, and grieving, and gray?
Lo! in the glimmering, sweet Aphrodite,
Ghastly and gracious, and groaning and grave,
Brilliant in banishment, mournful and mighty,
Soft as the samite that sinks in the wave!
Light are the longings that listen and linger: