The Story
of Saville
VIII.
And as ever, the kiss to the maiden’s lips came as a fleckless delight,
As a hummingbird glad in the amber noon recks never of tempest-torn night,
But the man thrilled solemnly to the thought that whether for good or for ill
He had mixed his life with another life and was bound as with steel to Saville,
And he raged at himself for an image of clay that senseless and selfish had snared
The love of a creature angelic, to whom he should never have dared
Lift even a worshiping thought, since his foiled adoration was but
As a rayless rare jewel, unmined, unprized, under a mountain shut.
Men take for granted the ferventest love; it seemeth them utterly meet
That woman should bow to them as to a god and lay at their deity’s feet
Frankincense, honeycomb, turquois, and pearl, and all things precious and sweet,—
But Kyrle, poor Kyrle, was humble enough, and he honestly questioned the maid
How she had formed so wretched a choice,—how had her fancy strayed
