Jephthah and Other Mysteries

86 MYSTERIES : From its dull olive to a perfect white. For scarce an hour the golden rim of light Tinges the southward bergs; for scarce an hour The sun puts forth his seasonable flower, And only for a little while the wind Wakes at his coming, and beats cold and blind On the wild sea that struggles to release The hard grip from its throat, and lie at ease Lapped in the eternal summer. But its waves Roam through the solitude of empty caves In vain, no faster wheels the moon above, And still reluctant fly the hours of love. It is so peaceful in the castle: here The night of winter never froze a tear On my love’s cheek or mine; no sorrow came To track our vessel by its wake of flame Wherein the dolphin bathed his shining side ; No smallest cloud between me and my bride Came like a little mist ; one tender fear, Too sweet to speak of, closed the dying year With love more perfect, for its purple root Might blossom outward to the snowy fruit Whose bloom to-night lay sleeping on her breast, As if a touch might stir the sunny nest, Break the spell’s power, and bid the spirit fly Who had come near to dwell with us. But I Bend through long hours above the dear twin life, Look from love’s guerdon to the lover-wife, And back again to that small face so sweet, And downwards to the little rosy feet,