70 
THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 
Than earthly stars and flowers 
That beam lasciviously through night’s empurpled 
hours ! 
 
O well of fire ! 
O fountain of delicious spurting flame 
Grown sad with shame, 
Whose imminent desire 
Drinks in the dew of earth, 
Gives its own limpid streams to quench man’s 
deathly dearth. 
 
O gardened rose ! 
The fern-fronds gird thy fragrant beauty round. 
Thy ways are bound 
With petals that unclose 
When the sun seeks his way 
Through night and sleep and love to all the 
dreams of day. 
 
Love, sleep, and death ! 
The three that melt together, mingle so 
Man may not know 
The little change of breath 
(Caught sigh that love desires,) 
When love grows sleep, and sleep at last in death 
expires.