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 hurled¹

    In shadowy pools， when armies fled；

    The love-tales wrought² with silken thread

    By dreaming ladies upon cloth

    That has made fat the murderous moth³；

    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 incense⁴ 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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