MAKE thyself known, Sibyl, or let despair Of knowing thee be absolute: I wait Hour-long and waste a soul. What word of fate Hides 'twixt the lips which smile and still for- bear? Secret perfection! Mystery too fair! Tangle the sense no more, lest I should hate The delicate tyranny, the inviolate Poise of thy folded hands, the fallen hair. Nay, nay, -- I wrong thee with rough words; still be Serene, victorious, inaccessible; Still smile but speak not; lightest irony Lurk ever 'neath thy eyelids' shadow; still O'ertop our knowledge; Sphinx of Italy, Allure us and reject us at thy will! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WAY OF THE CONVENTICLE OF THE TREES by HAYDEN CARRUTH SOLOMON TO SHEBA by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS LACK OF STEADFASTNESS; BALLAD by GEOFFREY CHAUCER CINQUAIN: THE WARNING by ADELAIDE CRAPSEY A SKETCH by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI A MASQUE OF DEAD QUEENS by STANLEY E. BABB STANZAS TO M.P. by BERNARD BARTON |