 | Fantasy and Passion |  |
175
FABRICS.
I. VELVET.
Here fittingly is the one most regal dress,
For in the manner its full round folds divide
We see superb calm and imperial pride
With soft alluring luxury acquiesce.
Now we behold it utterly lustreless,
Now mellow glimmerings in its depths abide,
Where masses of rich varying shadow hide,
Close-wedded to its sumptuous heaviness.
For in the manner its full round folds divide
We see superb calm and imperial pride
With soft alluring luxury acquiesce.
Now we behold it utterly lustreless,
Now mellow glimmerings in its depths abide,
Where masses of rich varying shadow hide,
Close-wedded to its sumptuous heaviness.
Always it shows me some traditional scene
Of thrones, ambassadors and the pomp of rule,
Great marriages, princely promises held cheap,
The pampered favorite, the neglected queen,
The reckless insolence of the gaudy fool,
The fawning courtier, and the assassin's leap!
Of thrones, ambassadors and the pomp of rule,
Great marriages, princely promises held cheap,
The pampered favorite, the neglected queen,
The reckless insolence of the gaudy fool,
The fawning courtier, and the assassin's leap!
176
II. SATIN.
No moonlit pool is lovelier than the glow
Of this bright sensitive texture, nor the sheen
On sunny wings that wandering sea-birds preen;
And sweet, of all fair draperies that I know,
To mark the smooth tranquillity of its flow,
Where shades of tremulous dimness intervene,
Shine out with mutable splendors, mild, serene,
In some voluminous raiment white as snow.
Of this bright sensitive texture, nor the sheen
On sunny wings that wandering sea-birds preen;
And sweet, of all fair draperies that I know,
To mark the smooth tranquillity of its flow,
Where shades of tremulous dimness intervene,
Shine out with mutable splendors, mild, serene,
In some voluminous raiment white as snow.
For then I feel impetuous fancy drawn
Forth at some faint and half-mysterious call,
Even like a bird that breaks from clasping bars;
And lighted vaguely by the Italian dawn,
I see rash Romeo scale the garden-wall,
While Juliet dreams below the dying stars!
Forth at some faint and half-mysterious call,
Even like a bird that breaks from clasping bars;
And lighted vaguely by the Italian dawn,
I see rash Romeo scale the garden-wall,
While Juliet dreams below the dying stars!
177
III. BROCADE.
When, in the festal glory of grand events,
This pale-flowered silk some stately form ensheathes,
Wrought intricately with pearly sprays and wreaths,
Arabesques and scrolls and leaflike ornaments,
What memories of old majesties intense
To the present its elaborate woof bequeathes,
Whose very rustle and sweep augustly breathes
Of leisure and wealth and grave magnificence.
This pale-flowered silk some stately form ensheathes,
Wrought intricately with pearly sprays and wreaths,
Arabesques and scrolls and leaflike ornaments,
What memories of old majesties intense
To the present its elaborate woof bequeathes,
Whose very rustle and sweep augustly breathes
Of leisure and wealth and grave magnificence.
For when I watch it, amber, yellow or rose,
As though some delicate wand were waved in air
By some invisible wondersmith, I gaze
On courtly gentlemen with embroidered hose
And radiant ladies with high powdered hair,
Stepping through minuets in colonial days!
As though some delicate wand were waved in air
By some invisible wondersmith, I gaze
On courtly gentlemen with embroidered hose
And radiant ladies with high powdered hair,
Stepping through minuets in colonial days!
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