The Soul of Osiris

8 THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. Fretted with stars, thrice woven across. White limbs in amorous slumber toss, Like sleeping foam, whose silver gleams On motionless dark seas ; it seems As if some gentle spirit stirred Their lazy brows with some swift word. So, in the secret of the shrine, Night keeps them nestled, so the gloom Laps them in waves as smooth as wine, As glowing as the fiery womb Of some young tigress, dark as doom, And swift as sunrise. Love’s content Builds its own mystic monument, And carves above its vaulted tomb The Phœnix on her fiery plume, To their own souls to testify Their kisses’ immortality.