WHEN my arms wrap you round I press My
heart upon the loveliness That
has long faded from the world; The
jewelled crowns that kings have hurled In
shadowy pools, when armies fled; The
love-tales wrought with silken thread By
dreaming ladies upon cloth That
has made fat the murderous moth; The
roses that of old time were Woven
by ladies in their hair, The
dew-cold lilies ladies bore Through
many a sacred corridor Where
such grey clouds of incense rose That
only God’s eyes did not close: For
that pale breast and lingering hand Come
from a more dream-heavy land, A
more dream-heavy hour than this; And
when you sigh from kiss to kiss I
hear white Beauty sighing, too, For
hours when all must fade like dew. But
flame on flame, and deep on deep, Throne
over throne where in half sleep, Their
swords upon their iron knees, Brood her high lonely mysteries. |
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