  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 mountain 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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