Stella Maris, XXXVII

Silvery mosquito-curtains draped the bed:
A lamp stood on the table; but its light
Startled no whit the drowsy wings of night,
Nor had the mystery of darkness fled.
She slumbered not: flawless from foot to head;
Fair ivory body clothed in fairest white;
No bar between her beauty and my sight:
Silence and storm-throes on our souls were shed.

Storm in the flakes of refluent hair that fret
Those brows imperious; in the smouldering fire
Of clear blue eyes love's tear-dews never wet;
Scorn frozen on firm lips, and petulant ire
Ready to leap from that marmoreal breast.
How awful was this motionless unrest!