 | English Roses |  |
AN EASTBOURNE CAMEO.
My cameo face—
Out of white marble and the moonlight cut,
With sad set lips in purpose hidden shut
And chiselled grace;
O in the turn of that untroubled brow
Attuned to mystery,
And in those gray and dark deliberate eyes
Orbed with no passions that compel us now,
The look that lives in dear dead centuries,
I gaze on history;
And backward roll in fire and mist the gates,
Like frozen fates.
Out of white marble and the moonlight cut,
With sad set lips in purpose hidden shut
And chiselled grace;
O in the turn of that untroubled brow
Attuned to mystery,
And in those gray and dark deliberate eyes
Orbed with no passions that compel us now,
The look that lives in dear dead centuries,
I gaze on history;
And backward roll in fire and mist the gates,
Like frozen fates.
My classic face—
Ah, if that mouth that were a monarch's toy
Could speak, its words would be an iron joy
For armed embrace!
That columned neck with its imperial pose
Of rare relenting,
Would match the rhythmic movement of Queen's hands
Customed to sport with battle's blood-red rose,
With gestures all a conqueror's commands
And crowned consenting.
The feet might sometimes fall, but never fly,
Like destiny.
Ah, if that mouth that were a monarch's toy
Could speak, its words would be an iron joy
For armed embrace!
That columned neck with its imperial pose
Of rare relenting,
Would match the rhythmic movement of Queen's hands
90
With gestures all a conqueror's commands
And crowned consenting.
The feet might sometimes fall, but never fly,
Like destiny.
My cameo face—
As cold and calm as wintry northern skies,
And yet with all the possibilities
Of tropic space;
Thy hate is a hot thunderbolt, to strike
Through worlds resistance;
And the wide orbit of thy strong great love,
In gloom and gleam and death and life alike,
Heedless of paths below or powers above,
Forestalls the distance.
Yet more than summer's richest heat and rest,
Inflames thy breast.
As cold and calm as wintry northern skies,
And yet with all the possibilities
Of tropic space;
Thy hate is a hot thunderbolt, to strike
Through worlds resistance;
And the wide orbit of thy strong great love,
In gloom and gleam and death and life alike,
Heedless of paths below or powers above,
Forestalls the distance.
Yet more than summer's richest heat and rest,
Inflames thy breast.
My classic face—
In this poor little squalid day of night,
A glimpse of ancient beauty and its might,
And prouder place!
Thou art the type of a supremer plan,
A revelation
Of the undying past, a potent charm,
Possessor of a secret talisman
To kindle thought and steel the drooping arm—
One inspiration.
I drink of thee, as fashions flutter by
Eternity.
In this poor little squalid day of night,
A glimpse of ancient beauty and its might,
And prouder place!
Thou art the type of a supremer plan,
A revelation
Of the undying past, a potent charm,
Possessor of a secret talisman
To kindle thought and steel the drooping arm—
One inspiration.
I drink of thee, as fashions flutter by
Eternity.
| English Roses | |