 | Phantasmagoria |  |
64
The Muse.
On an island of the infinite Atlantic,
In a palace myriad-shaped of spire and dome,
Hurling wilder voices to the frantic
Echoing and re-echoing of the foam,
Over silver surge and sands of amber,
Timed by many a flute,
A mad priestess plays upon the tambour
And the lute;
In a palace myriad-shaped of spire and dome,
Hurling wilder voices to the frantic
Echoing and re-echoing of the foam,
Over silver surge and sands of amber,
Timed by many a flute,
A mad priestess plays upon the tambour
And the lute;
Answering song for song defiant to the surges,
Tossing to the brine-blast her enamoured hair
Ever wild-eyed looking to the verges
Of the illimitable sea and air,
Back into the red sun's face of battle
Staring fierce and fell,
Tapping on the timbrel sets a-rattle
Drum and bell!
Tossing to the brine-blast her enamoured hair
Ever wild-eyed looking to the verges
Of the illimitable sea and air,
Back into the red sun's face of battle
Staring fierce and fell,
Tapping on the timbrel sets a-rattle
Drum and bell!
May 31st, 1886.
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