50 
THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 
There, like a statue, ’mid the massy piles 
Of thunder-smitten stone, as motionless 
As Fate she sat, in manifold distress, 
Awaiting and awaiting aye the same 
One strong desire of life, that never came ; 
And made a song, so passionate, the cave 
Told its dear secret to the clinging wave 
As she sang thus.  The sky a solemn echo gave. 
 
SONG OF ARCHAIS 
 
O Kill me with the Purple of Your Mouth ! 
And Slay me with the Gold of Your Forehead ! 
And bring me with you to the swarthy south ! 
And bury me in your desire’s bed ! 
Mine you shall be in life, in death, in dream, 
Mine in the years that are, and those that seem ; 
One with my essence, as your lips absorb 
My breath, and make it breezes for your bed, 
And all my body, to fill full the orb 
Of golden splendour of your royal head. 
King of my life and crown of my desire, 
King of all death when life’s last lips expire ; 
Mine, in the straitest wedlock rightly wed, 
Till God be pleased to kindle us a pyre.