Ylladmar

Her hair was, oh, so dense a blur     Of darkness, midnight envied her;     And stars grew dimmer in the skies     To see the glory of her eyes;     And all the summer rain of light     That showered from the moon at night     Fell o'er her features as the gloom     Of twilight o'er a lily-bloom.     The crimson fruitage of her lips     Was ripe and lush with sweeter wine     Than burgundy or muscadine     Or vintage that the burgher sips     In some old garden on the Rhine:     And I to taste of it could well     Believe my heart a crucible     Of molten love - and I could feel     The drunken soul within me reel     And rock and stagger till it fell.     And do you wonder that I bowed     Before her splendor as a cloud     Of storm the golden-sandaled sun     Had set his conquering foot upon?     And did she will it, I could lie     In writhing rapture down and die     A death so full of precious pain     I'd waken up to die again.