Laurella and other poems by John Todhunter |
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 | Laurella and other poems |  |
226
PSYCHE PAIDOTROPHE.
The poet's soul is as a maid that pinesFor a long dreamed-of God; till on a day
His kiss thrills all her frame, and she resigns
Her ravished self, meek in love's tenderest May;
And keeps her blissful secret afterward—
Knows her old life but death—panting for wings
To flee the sick jarring of untuned strings
In her lorn lute, as aye with restful sward
Some visioned Delos mocks her. Sweet to feel
The life divine astir, to feed her blood
With health, to muse upon her motherhood,
And walk in trembling, till the Gods reveal
Her bower of refuge. Then lone throes of birth,
And a new Python-slayer breathes on earth.
| Laurella and other poems | |