| 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. |