Jephthah and Other Mysteries

142 MYSTERIES: THE DREAMING DEATH. “Then to me so lying awake a vision Came without sleep over the seas and touched me.” SWINBURNE, Sapphics. Y beauty in thy deep pure love Anchors its homage far above All lights of heaven. The stars awake, The very stars bend down to take From its fresh fragrance for the sake Of their own cloud-compelling peace. On earth there lies a silver fleece Of new-fallen snow, secure from sun In alleys, leafy every one This year already with the spring. The breeze blows freshly, thrushes sing, And all the woods are burgeoning With quick new buds; across the snow The scent of violets to and fro Wafts at the hour of dawn. Alone I wait, a figure turned to stone (Or salt for pain). A week ago Thine arms had held me, now I know Far off they clasp the empty air: Note.—The scene of this poem is a little spinney near the wooden bridge in Love Lane, Cambridge.