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LEON
At him she look’d, and straightway hid her face,
For she that wont to laugh was weeping now,
And she that mock’d him clung about his neck.
Then he, maim’d Leon, that had never felt
Anything nestle to him, needing him,
Thought nothing more of Venus, nothing more
Of Morgan and her promise, nothing more
Of anything save Riance; rais’d her head,
And on the mist-wet, sea-wet, tear-wet face
Press’d passionate kisses, born of gratitude
And love.
And Riance, comforted, said, “Leon,
Forgive me! Tell me, who is it ye seek?
For I will help your quest.” But he cried out:
“Venus I sought, and a king’s daughter; now
I seek them not!”
“No Venus do I know;
“She dwells not here,” quoth Riance, much perplex’d.
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