 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
She woke amid the gush and hymning voice
Of fountains and the living gleam of fires,
And swell of tenderest music; and beside
The purple perfumed couch, whereon she lay,
In a vast chamber, hung with flowers and gems,
The priest of Isis stood;—his glowing eye
No longer stern and chill, his lips no more
Like sculptured cruelty, but bright and warm
And moist with mellowest wine; and o'er his face,
Late masked in mockeries, the burning light
Of Passion broke, as thus, with wanton smiles,
He breathed his heart upon his victim's ear.
“Thy path to pleasure, like the world's, my love!
Was through the empire of pale doubt and pain,
Where many visions of detested things
Will consummate the rapture deigned thee here.
Oh, didst thou think, my queen of loveliness?
That by Pompeii's dastard crowd of apes
Thou wert borne hither that the sacred lips
Of Isis, parted by thy purest blood,
Might give responses to fiend-loving fools!
The goddess hath a voice—when I ordain—
And, when her mysteries have filled their hearts
With myriad terrors to which death is bliss,
They shall not lack an answer to their quest.
But this is Love's elysium; men may seek
Another by Jove's grace—but this for me!
Be theirs eternities of prayer and hymn!
But Time and Wine and Venus are my gods!”
Of fountains and the living gleam of fires,
And swell of tenderest music; and beside
The purple perfumed couch, whereon she lay,
In a vast chamber, hung with flowers and gems,
The priest of Isis stood;—his glowing eye
No longer stern and chill, his lips no more
Like sculptured cruelty, but bright and warm
And moist with mellowest wine; and o'er his face,
Late masked in mockeries, the burning light
Of Passion broke, as thus, with wanton smiles,
He breathed his heart upon his victim's ear.
“Thy path to pleasure, like the world's, my love!
Was through the empire of pale doubt and pain,
Where many visions of detested things
Will consummate the rapture deigned thee here.
Oh, didst thou think, my queen of loveliness?
That by Pompeii's dastard crowd of apes
Thou wert borne hither that the sacred lips
Of Isis, parted by thy purest blood,
Might give responses to fiend-loving fools!
The goddess hath a voice—when I ordain—
And, when her mysteries have filled their hearts
With myriad terrors to which death is bliss,
They shall not lack an answer to their quest.
But this is Love's elysium; men may seek
Another by Jove's grace—but this for me!
Be theirs eternities of prayer and hymn!
But Time and Wine and Venus are my gods!”
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |