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 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
II.
Because she stands so fatally close to me;
Because I breathe in anguish with each breath,
Who may not face the awful eyes of Death,
Nor 'scape the pitiless eyes of Memory;
Because my soul is deaf, nor may it see;
Because within my ear the Temptress saith:
“Am I not fair, crowned with my fragrant wreath?
Have I not pleasant gifts to give to thee?”
Because I breathe in anguish with each breath,
Who may not face the awful eyes of Death,
Nor 'scape the pitiless eyes of Memory;
Because my soul is deaf, nor may it see;
Because within my ear the Temptress saith:
“Am I not fair, crowned with my fragrant wreath?
Have I not pleasant gifts to give to thee?”
Because I know the sweet mouth only lies,
Yet surely know that she is very fair, —
I venture not to look into her eyes,
As in a lighter mood I might have done,
Nor touch her hand, nor idle with her hair,
Seeing of this could come no end but one.
Yet surely know that she is very fair, —
I venture not to look into her eyes,
As in a lighter mood I might have done,
Nor touch her hand, nor idle with her hair,
Seeing of this could come no end but one.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |