 | Flotsam and Jetsam |  |
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LILLIE RAYMOND.
I
I think . . . if you saw in a fairy palaceFor lamp an Arum as big as a chalice,
Wherein its Queen had chanced to imprison
One beam caught from the Sun new risen—
One fine shaft of blinding white,
And one of tenderest crimson light
Flung off at eve on ocean's shore
With all the kingly robes he wore;
Could you see their brilliant sheening
Mellowed by such intervening
Pure, pellucid, pearly screening;
Why then I think . . . but doubt it rather,
A faint idea 'twere yours to gather
Of the delicate blending of roseate brightness
With sweet Lillie Raymond's diaphanous whiteness;
How sweet Lillie Raymond's fair-blossoming features
Shed a halo like some high-beatified creature's!
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II
I think . . . in an Arab court somewhere—Dark-fringed with plants of bloom most rare,
And many a leaf from flesh to hair;
Breathing through the trembling heat
Many a scent, cool, chymic, sweet—
Breathing from that emerald dusk
Camphor and lemon, mint and musk;
If, midst the white piazzas set,
All marble of Morisco fret,
You marked a dainty fountain-jet
Singing up in silver splendour,
Straight as an arrow, straight and slender;
Then watched a cataract's snowy rope,
Lying on a mountain's slope;
Saw the fixed swift-moving veins,
Finely-fibred sinuous skeins
Of foam in milky mazes wandering,
In every curve of grace meandering:
Why then I think . . . in some doubt . . . you could guess
What opposite beauties coalesce,—
What rich waves of loveliness mingle in lightness
With sweet Lillie Raymond's tall wandlike uprightness;
How sweet Lillie Raymond's rich figure so fashioned
Keeps the gaze never sated, Love ever impassioned!
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III
I think . . . if you saw a Swan slow-swimmingDown a river crystal-brimming—
Not swimming, say, all effort hiding,
In white glory trancelike gliding;
Then if you saw the swaying grace
Of an Emu's stately pace;
And o'er notions gathered thence—
Sweet pride and gentle confidence—
Could diffuse a subtile sense
Of the elastic lively gestures
Of slim gazelles in Syrian pastures,
When Spring and Love lend double joyance,
Each light bound a lighter buoyance:
Why then I think . . . still with a sprinkling
Of doubt . . . you might haply get an inkling
Of the sprightly erectness and ease so endearing
Of sweet Lillie Raymond's fine walk and frank bearing;
How sweet Lillie Raymond in motion and manner
Is as graceful and free as an eddying banner!
IV
I think . . . if you wove the dazzling notionOf sleek slips of azure ocean,
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Dallying, dancing, trembling, shrinking;
And the cool calm lustre worn
By the innocent-breaking Morn,
When little waves in snow-fringed bands
Gently lap the yellow sands;
Could you mix such fair bright things
With shy gleams from ravens' wings;
Moon-lit dewdrops shining wet
On ripe black currants' skins of jet;
Or whate'er gives notion fitter
Of brilliant blackness, sable glitter:
Why then I think . . . no, scarcely can deem
Even then you could guess how changefully beam
The mingled bewildering bright and dark flashes
Through sweet Lillie Raymond's black curling eyelashes;
How sweet Lillie Raymond's rare glances can fire us
Through the glow of black pupil, the gleam of blue iris!
V
I think . . . if in wild admirationYou ransacked all God's great creation
For types of beauty, spirit, sweetness,
Fit to paint in clear completeness,
This pearl, this darling, this delight,
This topmost charm of raptured sight;
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Her eyes, a heaven of blue benignness
Darkening to such weird divineness!
Her breath—fresh wallflowers summer-blowing,
All her timid true-love showing
In its quickened coming—going
Through lips like crimson corn-bells glowing
In sunset's crimson overflowing!
Those lightning-wreaths—swift mantlings gay
O'er chin, cheek, many a dimple's play,
Lips, eyelids, eyes—her sudden smiles!
Her careless witcheries, artless wiles;
Her mirth; her mimic arch simplicities;
Pretty mock pruderies; feigned rusticities;
Large-hearted sympathies that spring
At every thought of suffering,
And run all golden-rippling warm
O'er rigid rule and freezing form!
Yes! if you ransacked all creation
To paint this piquant strange temptation,
Why then I think . . . and do not doubt it,
'Twere loss of time to set about it;
For you never could guess though all types you should tether
What sweet Lillie Raymond is like altogether!—
How sweet Lillie Raymond wins, witches, entrances,
He only who knows her—knows, pictures or fancies!
| Flotsam and Jetsam | |