38 
THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 
O lotus-flower too white, 
Starred purple, round and sweet, 
Rich golden wheat 
Of night. 
 
I’ll kiss thee, lotus-flower, 
I’ll pluck thee, yellow grain, 
Once and again 
This hour. 
 
There coos a dove to me 
Across the waves of space ; 
O passionate face 
To see ! 
 
I’ll woo thee, silver dove, 
Caress thee, lotus-flower ; 
It is the hour 
Of Love. 
 
 
Cypris blushed deep ;  albeit for love did swoon 
At the song’s sweetness, while the cold dead moon 
Was still and pale ;  her nymphs are fain to sigh 
With sudden longing filled, and like to die 
For vain delight, for still across the sea 
Stole sensuous breaths of Sapphic melody