 | Odes (1894) |  |
86
MALIGN BEAUTY
A face like morning, with a heart of night!
Not though in deserts fanged with death thou roam,
Or couch 'mid monsters of the ooze and foam,
Shalt thou be blasted with so dread a sight
As when a soul whose errand is to blight
And shatter, makes a glorious body its home,
Foul tenant of a stately palace-dome,
Imperial towers, and gardens of delight
Not though in deserts fanged with death thou roam,
Or couch 'mid monsters of the ooze and foam,
Shalt thou be blasted with so dread a sight
As when a soul whose errand is to blight
And shatter, makes a glorious body its home,
Foul tenant of a stately palace-dome,
Imperial towers, and gardens of delight
Look through her windows! See,—a pilgrim guest
Is feasted by the bounteous châtelaine.
Fledged are the hours with wine and song and jest.
The morrow cometh. Shall he rise and hie
Forth on his way? He grasps his staff in vain,
In her deep dungeons flung, to rot and die.
Is feasted by the bounteous châtelaine.
87
The morrow cometh. Shall he rise and hie
Forth on his way? He grasps his staff in vain,
In her deep dungeons flung, to rot and die.
| Odes (1894) | |