WITH rosy palms against her bosom pressed To stay the shudder that she dreads of old, Lysidice glides down, till silver-cold The water girdles half her glowing breast; A yellow butterfly on flowery quest Rifles the roses that her tresses hold: A breeze comes wandering through the fold on fold Of draperies curtaining her shrine of rest. Soft beauty, like her kindred petals strewed Along the crystal coolness, there she lies. What vision gratifies those gentle eyes? She dreams she stands where yesterday she stood, Where, while the whole arena shrieks for blood, Hot in the sand a gladiator dies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CRADLE SONG by PADRAIC COLUM CATHOLIC HYMN by EDGAR ALLAN POE MY FAMILIAR by JOHN GODFREY SAXE AN HYMN OF HEAVENLY LOVE by EDMUND SPENSER ON NANUS COUNTED ON AN ANT by DECIMUS MAGNUS AUSONIUS HOMER by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN STANZAS TO A LADY by JOHN CODRINGTON BAMPFYLDE |