 | Later Lyrics |  |
214
JEALOUSY.
Low in my bosom, aspic, thou must hide,
Its best blood not too dainty for thy fang;
Such closeness saves me from the hell of pride,
Should haughty conquerors know the deadly pang.
Its best blood not too dainty for thy fang;
Such closeness saves me from the hell of pride,
Should haughty conquerors know the deadly pang.
No beggar takes thee home. In all men's eyes
I have been crowned with glory in my time:
Joy that made Envy cruel to a crime
Has draped me in the sight of summer skies.
And she who flouts me, fallen from my prime,
Had been a spot upon my affluent noon
That grasped the hill-tops, and the valleys drew
To one accord of rapturous delight.
Ah me! in love, December waits on June:
We have not lost a gesture nor a tune,
Before a rival revels in our right.
I have been crowned with glory in my time:
Joy that made Envy cruel to a crime
Has draped me in the sight of summer skies.
And she who flouts me, fallen from my prime,
Had been a spot upon my affluent noon
That grasped the hill-tops, and the valleys drew
To one accord of rapturous delight.
215
We have not lost a gesture nor a tune,
Before a rival revels in our right.
Sting deep to death, that sex and soul be lost,
That they, the happy, may turn cold with shame;
Love, to recall his gem of worthier cost;
And Hate, to find me perished ere she came.
That they, the happy, may turn cold with shame;
Love, to recall his gem of worthier cost;
And Hate, to find me perished ere she came.
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