White, O white face— from disenchanted days wither alike dark rose and fiery bays: no gift within our hands,

Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver,

I should have thought in a dream you would have brought some lovely, perilous thing, orchids piled in a great sheath, as who would say (in a dream),

NOR skin nor hide nor fleece Shall cover you, Nor curtain of crimson nor fine Shelter of cedar—wood be over you, Nor the fir—tree

Stars wheel in purple, yours is no… as Hesperus, nor yet so great a st… as bright Aldeboran or Sirius, nor yet the stained and brilliant… stars turn in purple, glorious to…

Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone

Hymen, O Hymen king, what bitter thing is this? what shaft, tearing my heart? what scar, what light, what fire searing my eye—balls and my eyes w…

The mysteries remain, I keep the same cycle of seed—time and of sun and rain; Demeter in the grass,

From citron—bower be her bed, cut from branch of tree a—flower, fashioned for her maidenhead. From Lydian apples, sweet of hue, cut the width of board and lathe,

Thou art come at length More beautiful Than any cool god In a chamber under Lycia’s far coast,