Hath but the pain of frozen wounds, and fear
Feeding on his dark spirit, to watch withal. 
And lo,
As suddenly, as blessedly thou comest
Now to my heart’s unseeing watch for thee,
As out of the night behind him into the heart,
Drugg’d senseless with its ache, of that lost soldier
An arrow leaps, and ere the stab can hurt,
His frozen waking is the ease of death. 
So I am killed by thee; all the loud pain
Of pleasure that had lockt my heart in life,
Wherein with blinded and unhearing face
My hope of thee yet stood and strained to look
And listen for thy coming,—­all this life
Is killed before thee; yea, like marvellous death,
Spiritual sense invests my heart’s desire;
And round the quiet and content thereof,
The striving hunger of my fleshly sense
Fails like a web of hanging cloth in fire.—­
Tell me now, if thou knowest, why thou hast come!

Judith. 
Sufficeth not for us that I have come?—­
Let not unseemly things live in my mouth;
Yet I would praise thee as thou praisest me,
But in a manner that my people use,
Things to approach in song they list not speak. 
And song, thou knowest, inwrought with chiming strings,
Sweetens with sweet delay loving desire: 
Also thine eyes will feed, and thy heart wonder.—­
    Balkis was in her marble town,
    And shadow over the world came down. 
    Whiteness of walls, towers and piers,
    That all day dazzled eyes to tears,
    Turned from being white-golden flame,
    And like the deep-sea blue became. 
    Balkis into her garden went;
    Her spirit was in discontent
    Like a torch in restless air. 
    Joylessly she wandered there,
    And saw her city’s azure white
    Lying under the great night,
    Beautiful as the memory
    Of a worshipping world would be
    In the mind of a god, in the hour
    When he must kill his outward power;
    And, coming to a pool where trees
    Grew in double greeneries,
    Saw herself, as she went by
    The water, walking beautifully,
    And saw the stars shine in the glance
    Of her eyes, and her own fair countenance
    Passing, pale and wonderful,
    Across the night that filled the pool. 
    And cruel was the grief that played
    With the queen’s spirit; and she said: 
    “What do I hear, reigning alone? 
    For to be unloved is to be alone. 
    There is no man in all my land
    Dare my longing understand;
    The whole folk like a peasant bows
    Lest its look should meet my brows
    And be harmed by this beauty of mine. 
    I burn their brains as I were sign
    Of God’s beautiful anger sent
    To master them with punishment
    Of beauty that must pour distress
    On hearts grown dark with ugliness. 
    But it is I am the punisht one. 
    Is there no man, is there