THE COURT OF THE PROFANE. 
29 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
LOVE AT PEACE. 
 
 
 HE valleys, that are splendid 
 With sun ere day is ended 
 And love-lutes take to tune, 
See joyless and unfriended 
The perfect bowstring bended, 
 Whose bow is called the moon. 
They see the waters slacken 
And all the sky’s blue blacken, 
While in the yellow bracken 
 Love lies in death or swoon. 
 
The stars arise and brighten ; 
The summer lightnings lighten, 
 Faint and as midnight mute ; 
And far white snowfields tighten 
The iron bands that frighten 
 No fairy’s tender foot. 
Across the stiller river 
Stray flowers of ice may shiver, 
Before the day deliver 
 The murmur of its lute. 
  T