DESCENDANT of the doves of Aphrodite Who fluttered in that type of beauty's train And followed her affairs—the grave, the flighty, Cooing in just your calm, uncaring strain, Whether she thought to rid her of a rival, Or bring some laggard lover to her knees;— I see you, Sir, the latter-day survival Of such fair pluméd satellites as these! "Bred in the bone," perchance you know the motto! And so you doubtless dream of tides that lace O'er snow-white sand by some blue Paphian grotto, Or of your sires' dark, murmurous, woodland Thrace; A penny whistle shrilling 'mid the traffic May seem the goat-foot god's own oaten trill, Till you shall think to hear the Mænads maffic In the upborne commotion of Cornhill! And from your perch where sooty winds are striving, O Bank stock-dove, as o'er Hymettian bloom You yet may watch the busy bees a-hiving The sweet and subtle fragrance of the Boom, And see, as once before the Cyprian matron, The crowds that wait, obsequious and discreet, On her, your passionless and newer patron, The stern Old Lady of Threadneedle Street! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG OF THE OPEN COUNTRY by DOROTHY PARKER REMBRANDT TO REMBRANDT by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON LOVE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS WORK WITHOUT HOPE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE CHRISTMAS BELLS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW HYMN: 32. THE NATIVITY OF OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR JESUS CHRIST by CHRISTOPHER SMART WHITE FIELDS by JAMES STEPHENS THE STORY OF FIORDISPINA, FR. ORLANDO FURIOSO by LUDOVICO (LODOVICO) ARIOSTO SUNSET IN THE DEVIL'S GLEN: COUNTY WICKLOW by EDMUND JOHN ARMSTRONG |