Electra

My love too stately is to be but fair, Too fair she is for naught but stateliness; She bids me Nay, and yet a silent Yes Dwells in the dusk her shadowy eyelids wear. My Love’s step makes a music in the air, Touching the sense with a divine caress, And all the rapture of the dawn doth bless The light that leaps to life across her hair. Her mouth is just the love-couch for a song, And mid the fragrance of its riven flowers Low laughter breaks and trembles close to tears Mingled of mirth and melody, as a throng Of bird notes wakes to joy the drowsy hours And weaves delight through all the grieving years.