The Song of Tristram
The star of love is trembling in the west,
Night hears the desolate sea with moan on moan
Sigh for the storm, who on his mountains lone
Smites his wild harp and dreams of her wild breast.
I am thy storm, Isolt, and thou my sea!
Isolt!
My passionate sea!
The storm to her wild breast, the passionate sea
To his fierce arms: we to the rapturous leap
Of mated spirits mingling in love's deep,
Flame to flame, I to thee and thou to me!
Thou to mine arms, Isolt, I to thy breast!
Isolt!
I to thy breast!
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