The Story
of Saville
X.
O August imperial! night divine! O infinite passionate sea!
Each of itself is a gift so rich that well may the high gods be
Envying man the sweet low earth and their beautiful trinity!
Kyrle and Saville went wandering on, slow pacing the surf-beat shore,
And he stumbled not, for she chose the path, and heavy his arm hung o’er
Her delicate shoulders; so faithfully, so spaniel-humble she led,
Kyrle had not dashed his foot on a stone since the vernal day they were wed.
Fair is the dawn, when the half-waked robins closelier nestle and croon,
Fair, but faint by the smiting white supernal splendor of noon,
And they who but warble of “Love’s Young Dream” methinks can never have known
The gordian tie of an older love, where shadow and substance have grown
Incorporate utterly, not as the moss clings into the crannied stone,
