Page:Poems Barrett.djvu/234

      Bring an oath most sylvan holy,
      And upon it swear me true—
      By the wind-bells swinging slowly
      Their mute curfews in the dew—
By the advent of the snow-drop—by the rosemary and rue,—

      I affirm by all or any,
      Let the cause: be charm or chance,
      That my wandering searches many
      Missed the bower of my romance—
That I never more upon it, turned my mortal countenance.

      I affirm that, since I lost it,
      Never bower has seemed so fair—
      Never garden-creeper crossed it,
      With so deft and brave an air—
Never bird sung in the summer, as I saw and heard them there.

      Day by day, with new desire,
      Toward my wood I ran in faith—
      Under leaf and over brier—
      Through the thickets, out of breath—
Like the prince who rescued Beauty from the sleep as long as death.

      But his sword of mettle clashed,
      And his arm smote strong, I ween;
      And her dreaming spirit flashed
      Through her body's fair white screen,—
And the light thereof might guide him up the cedarn alleys green.

      But for me, I saw no splendour—
      All my sword was my child-heart;
      And the wood refused surrender
      Of that bower it held apart,
Safe as Œdipus's grave-place, 'mid Colone's olives swart.