 | Verse in bloom |  |
143
TWO SLAVES
Had I the old Enchanted Lamp
To rub, that, towering in my view,
Its Slave along the air might spread
His limbs and rear aloft his head
Within a frame of gold and blue,
My starving breast would have him speed,
With haste as violent as my need,
To bring me, Fairest, you.
To rub, that, towering in my view,
Its Slave along the air might spread
His limbs and rear aloft his head
Within a frame of gold and blue,
My starving breast would have him speed,
With haste as violent as my need,
To bring me, Fairest, you.
But then—your panting loveliness
Within his arms! Were he as true
As angels, what a raging test
Of honour startled in a breast
Where pain and passion both were new!
Slave of the Slave, I could not dare
To send him lonely. He should bear
Your worshipper to you.
Within his arms! Were he as true
As angels, what a raging test
Of honour startled in a breast
Where pain and passion both were new!
Slave of the Slave, I could not dare
To send him lonely. He should bear
Your worshipper to you.
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