(In the Louvre) WATER, for anguish of the solstice:--nay, But dip the vessel slowly,--nay, but lean And hark how at its verge the wave sighs in Reluctant. Hush! Beyond all depth away The heat lies silent at the brink of day: Now the hand trails upon the viol-string That sobs, and the brown faces cease to sing, Sad with the whole of pleasure. Whither stray Her eyes now, from whose mouth the slim pipes creep And leave it pouting, while the shadowed grass Is cool against her naked side? Let be:-- Say nothing now unto her lest she weep, Nor name this ever. Be it as it was,-- Life touching lips with Immortality. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER THE QUARREL by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR LOREINE: A HORSE by ARTHUR DAVISON FICKE HOW WE BEAT THE FAVOURITE by ADAM LINDSAY GORDON SILENCE SINGS by THOMAS STURGE MOORE THE DEATH OF ADONIS by THEOCRITUS A PRAYER, LIVING AND DYING by AUGUSTUS MONTAGUE TOPLADY |