 | The complete poems of S. Weir Mitchell |  |
334
THE VESTAL'S DREAM
Ah, Venus, white-limbed mother of delight,Why shouldst thou tease her with a dream so dear?
Winged tenderness of kisses, hovering near,
Her gentle longings cheat. Forbidden sight
Of eager eyes doth through the virgin night
Perplex her innocence with cherished fear.
O cruel thou, with sweets to ripen here
In wintry cloisters what can know but blight.
Wilt leave her now to scorn? The lictors' blows
To-morrow shall be merciless. The light
Dies on the altar! Nay, swift through the night,
Comes pitiful the queen of young desire,
That reddened in a dream this chaste white rose,
And lights with silver torch the fallen fire.
Rome, May 1891.
| The complete poems of S. Weir Mitchell | |