 | Poems by Two Brothers |  |
58
‘DID NOT THY ROSEATE LIPS OUTVIE’
“Ulla si juris tibi pejerati
“Pœna, Barine, nocuisset unquam;
“Dente si nigro fieres, vel uno
“Turpior ungui
“Crederem.”
Horace.
“Pœna, Barine, nocuisset unquam;
“Dente si nigro fieres, vel uno
“Turpior ungui
“Crederem.”
Horace.
Did not thy roseate lips outvie
The gay Anana's spicy bloom;
Had not thy breath the luxury,
The richness of its deep perfume—
The gay Anana's spicy bloom;
Had not thy breath the luxury,
The richness of its deep perfume—
Were not the pearls it fans more clear
Than those which grace the valved shell;
Thy foot more airy than the deer,
When startled from his lonely dell—
Than those which grace the valved shell;
Thy foot more airy than the deer,
When startled from his lonely dell—
59
Were not thy bosom's stainless whiteness,
Where angel loves their vigils keep,
More heavenly than the dazzling brightness
Of the cold crescent on the deep—
Where angel loves their vigils keep,
More heavenly than the dazzling brightness
Of the cold crescent on the deep—
Were not thine eye a star might grace
Yon sapphire concave beaming clear,
Or fill the vanish'd Pleiad's place,
And shine for aye as brightly there—
Yon sapphire concave beaming clear,
Or fill the vanish'd Pleiad's place,
And shine for aye as brightly there—
Had not thy locks the golden glow
That robes the gay and early east,
Thus falling in luxuriant flow
Around thy fair but faithless breast:
That robes the gay and early east,
Thus falling in luxuriant flow
Around thy fair but faithless breast:
I might have deem'd that thou wert she
Of the Cumæan cave, who wrote
Each fate-involving mystery,
Upon the feathery leaves that float,
Of the Cumæan cave, who wrote
Each fate-involving mystery,
Upon the feathery leaves that float,
Borne thro' the boundless waste of air,
Wherever chance might drive along.
But she was wrinkled—thou art fair:
And she was old—but thou art young.
Wherever chance might drive along.
But she was wrinkled—thou art fair:
And she was old—but thou art young.
60
Her years were as the sands that strew
The fretted ocean-beach; but thou—
Triumphant in that eye of blue,
Beneath thy smoothly-marble brow;
The fretted ocean-beach; but thou—
Triumphant in that eye of blue,
Beneath thy smoothly-marble brow;
Exulting in thy form thus moulded,
By nature's tenderest touch design'd;
Proud of the fetters thou hast folded
Around this fond deluded mind—
By nature's tenderest touch design'd;
Proud of the fetters thou hast folded
Around this fond deluded mind—
Deceivest still with practis'd look,
With fickle vow, and well-feign'd sigh.
I tell thee, that I will not brook
Reiterated perjury!
With fickle vow, and well-feign'd sigh.
I tell thee, that I will not brook
Reiterated perjury!
Alas! I feel thy deep control,
E'en now when I would break thy chain:
But while I seek to gain thy soul,
Ah! say—hast thou a soul to gain?
E'en now when I would break thy chain:
But while I seek to gain thy soul,
Ah! say—hast thou a soul to gain?
A. T.
| Poems by Two Brothers | |