The Soul of Osiris

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