 | Egypt |  |
87
TO A HOUND BAYING THE MOON
What makes thee bay the moon?
Art thou bewitched, poor loon,
Enamoured of that disregardful face?
Is there a moth that stings
E'en dogs to dream of wings,
To bear them up, some heavenly hag to chase?
Art thou bewitched, poor loon,
Enamoured of that disregardful face?
Is there a moth that stings
E'en dogs to dream of wings,
To bear them up, some heavenly hag to chase?
Thou maddenest with amaze
At that malignant gaze,
Chilling and curdling as Medusa's head;
Thou of the raving voice,
Wouldst thou be Dian's choice?
The glittering goddess beams on thee—but dead.
At that malignant gaze,
Chilling and curdling as Medusa's head;
Thou of the raving voice,
Wouldst thou be Dian's choice?
The glittering goddess beams on thee—but dead.
88
Thou, to thy kennel tied,
Wishing the heavenly bride,
Art futile worshipper of false desire;
So oft, alas! do men,
Straining from Earth's dark den,
Take for authentic light reflected fire.
Wishing the heavenly bride,
Art futile worshipper of false desire;
So oft, alas! do men,
Straining from Earth's dark den,
Take for authentic light reflected fire.
| Egypt | |