THERE WHERE THE SEAThere where the sea enwraptA strip of land and wind-swept dune,Where nature was quiescent in the glimmeringNoonday sun of early June,—The Placid sea lay shimmeringIn a mist of blue,From which the sky now drewIts wealth of hue and colour;One heard but the deep breathing of the ocean,As it breathed along the shore in even motion.Among the pines and listless of the scene,Atthis and Alcæus lay,Within the heart of each a hungerFor the unknown gift of life.Here from day to dayThey met and dreamed awayThe soft unfloding days of spring,—Now turning to the summer.Alcæus:I am faint with all the fireIn my blood,And I would plunge into the quiet blueAnd lose all sense of time and you.Atthis:I, too, would plungeAnd swim with you!Doffing her robe, the maid stood in her beauty,Calm and sure and unafraid,The sinuous splendour of her limbs,A silent symphony of curving line,Which reached its final noteIn breast and rounded throat.He had not known that flesh could be so fair;Each movement which she madeWove o’er his sense a deeper spell,Her beauty swept him like a flameAnd caught him unaware.She looked into his eyes, then dropping hersBefore that burning gaze,Softly turned and crept with sunlit shouldersDown among the boulders,To the sea.Secure within its covering depthShe called to him to follow.She led him out along the tide,With swift unerring stroke,Nor paused till he was at her side.With conquering armHe seized her and from her browTossed back the dripping locks, and sought her lips—Her eyes closed,—As all her body yielded to his kiss.Then home he bore her to the shore,Within his heart a song of triumph;In hers, a new-born joy of womanhood.So spring for them passed on to summer.MARIE TUDOR
There where the sea enwraptA strip of land and wind-swept dune,Where nature was quiescent in the glimmeringNoonday sun of early June,—The Placid sea lay shimmeringIn a mist of blue,From which the sky now drewIts wealth of hue and colour;One heard but the deep breathing of the ocean,As it breathed along the shore in even motion.Among the pines and listless of the scene,Atthis and Alcæus lay,Within the heart of each a hungerFor the unknown gift of life.Here from day to dayThey met and dreamed awayThe soft unfloding days of spring,—Now turning to the summer.Alcæus:I am faint with all the fireIn my blood,And I would plunge into the quiet blueAnd lose all sense of time and you.Atthis:I, too, would plungeAnd swim with you!Doffing her robe, the maid stood in her beauty,Calm and sure and unafraid,The sinuous splendour of her limbs,A silent symphony of curving line,Which reached its final noteIn breast and rounded throat.He had not known that flesh could be so fair;Each movement which she madeWove o’er his sense a deeper spell,Her beauty swept him like a flameAnd caught him unaware.She looked into his eyes, then dropping hersBefore that burning gaze,Softly turned and crept with sunlit shouldersDown among the boulders,To the sea.Secure within its covering depthShe called to him to follow.She led him out along the tide,With swift unerring stroke,Nor paused till he was at her side.With conquering armHe seized her and from her browTossed back the dripping locks, and sought her lips—Her eyes closed,—As all her body yielded to his kiss.Then home he bore her to the shore,Within his heart a song of triumph;In hers, a new-born joy of womanhood.So spring for them passed on to summer.
MARIE TUDOR