Then slipped the moon behind a dusky cloud,
  And each bright star its silver visage hid;
Mystery ’gan the darkness to enshroud;
  Across the sky a blood-red message slid.

Sudden the ship blazed up, the dark was light;
  Lo!  Scald is dead! his pyre was lit to-night.

* * * * *

JUDITH LYTTON

A DAY REMEMBERED

Oh, Love, what fate is ours?  No summer morning
  Shall give us joy, no sunrise bring relief;
No end—­no end is there unto our sorrow,
  No measure to our grief.

You looked at me, and all your living beauty
  Swept to my heart in flame a moment’s space,
A sudden mist of tears in darkness veiling
  The glory of your face.

You spoke:  I seemed to hear the wild doves cooing—­
  The rain upon the hills, sweet falling rain;
And all my soul was filled with joy and anguish,
  In ecstasy of pain.

I saw as in a mist celestial visions
  Beyond the bitter seas whence hope has fled,
Heard the wind blow among the trees in summer,
  But knew not what you said.

It matters not what words the lips have spoken
  When heart shall speak to heart, for love can hear
Unspoken words, and see as in reflection
  His own thoughts mirrored there.

You came to me, the sun arose in splendour;
  I saw the roses spread their petals sweet,
And thought that all the world must see in wonder
  The wings upon our feet.

You touched me, and a wave of passionate longing
  Flooded my soul until it swooned away,
And knew no more the sunlight from the shadow—­
  If it were night or day.

We wandered in the shadow of the woodland,
  Mute while we looked into each other’s eyes,
And saw as in still pools of darkened water
  The wonder of the skies.

No word we spoke.  We knew that love had silenced
  All that we wished to speak yet left unsaid;
The bees were humming in the wild-rose blossoms
  Which clustered overhead.

And all that summer day we were together,
  Alone with love, yet with a sword between—­
The flaming sword that stands between us ever,
  And all that might have been.

Mist gathered white at evening in the valleys,
  And slowly grew the dusk from gold to grey,
While rain-clouds gathered on the low horizon
  Dark at the close of day.

And softly rose a wind from out the darkness,
  With scent of flower and fern and herb and tree,
And in its breath there came a sound of thunder,
  Storm-laden from the sea.

And thus we reached the wicket of the garden;
  The wood was full of sound, the sound of wings;
The scent of lavender brought back remembrance
  Of long-forgotten things.

Though heaven and earth and sky should be forgotten,
  Yet of that hour my soul should bear the trace: 
For night fell fast, and in the deepening shadow
  You turned and kissed my face.