Was it the signet of an Antonine— This middle-finger ring whose bezel glows With the most lovely of intaglios Ere wrought by craftsman in an age divine? Or was it borne by grim Tiberius' line At lustful festals and fierce wild-beast shows? Sealed it wise edicts, or when Lucan chose His artful liberal death was it the sign? I cannot tell, nor can this lucent toy! I only know that these small graven forms, This cymbal-playing maenad and this boy, In their delightful beauty shall live on, Crannied 'mong crashing rocks, when Time's last storms Have whelmed us in the sands we build upon. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STEVENSON'S BIRTHDAY by KATHERINE WISE MILLER THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 1. AIR by JOHN ARMSTRONG I CLEANED MY HOUSE TODAY by KATHARINE CANBY BALDERSTON THE KNITTING by MARGARET BARBER TO THE MEMORY OF H-- M-- by BERNARD BARTON INSUFFICIENCY (1) by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |