IN this scarred age thine own is Beauty's bust Should'st thou bear sword or lily, or from stair Descend, or bind a band about thy hair, Queen of Romance, evoking flowers from dust. But for thy token Mirth were robed in rust. Speak -- all the muses wake. Die, and Despair Lives ever. Arms of dream or fleshly glare Encircle us. Thy Phaedra wakes our lust. All fain to suffer, every heart adheres To thy sad heart, for we have seen thy tears And all our sorrows streaming down thy cheeks. And, Sarah, O benignant Sorceress, Thou too must feel, whenas thy genius speaks, The lips of Shakespeare on thy fingers press. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE RANGITAKI VALLEY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD IVY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON PLEDGE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE GARDEN OF ADONIS by EMMA LAZARUS THE MARRIAGE (1) by TIMOTHY LIU TO-MORROW TO FRESH WOODS AND PASTURES NEW' by AMY LOWELL |