Tale of Archais

54 THE TALE OF ARCHAIS O dear Uranian night ! O happy hours ! Will they be long returning on their track ? Will my gold mane grow grey and know them not ? Will my heart’s fibers long endure the rack That tears them now—the fear I am forgot ? Nay, but I fear not : I well know your lips Yearn over moor and marsh for me, your hand Misses no moment but its marble slips In your bright tunic, as the little ships That seek a harbour by some rocky strand, To take your pipe, and play at love’s demand Some tender song I sung you long ago To lume again some first sweet maiden glow Of shy desire that I knew not all it said. Will the days lengthen for sheer weariness ? Will they pursue us till they strike us dead ? Or will our love put on a spring-time dress And burn and bloom and burgeon into leaf, And rose-leaves cover quite the urn of grief ? Yes, you shall call me to your side, to speed Fast as love ever flies, to yonder south, Where my young bosom shall be taught to bleed,