 | Poetical Works of Lionel Johnson |  |
COUNSEL
To Edward Warren.
Milky pearls of India
For the braiding of her hair:
Spice from swart Arabia
For the fragrance of her air:
Coil the pure pearls, wake the sweet spells,
Let lutes and hollow shells
Flatter her, fair, if morn be fair.
For the braiding of her hair:
Spice from swart Arabia
For the fragrance of her air:
Coil the pure pearls, wake the sweet spells,
Let lutes and hollow shells
Flatter her, fair, if morn be fair.
245
Stay, no more! Bring not to her
Golden lore of poetry:
Not on those dark eyes confer
Glories of antiquity.
What wouldest thou? She loves too much,
To feel the solemn touch
Of Plato's thought, that masters thee.
Golden lore of poetry:
Not on those dark eyes confer
Glories of antiquity.
What wouldest thou? She loves too much,
To feel the solemn touch
Of Plato's thought, that masters thee.
She hath drunken wizard dew,
Where the secret faeries dance:
She hath watched the sylvan crew,
When the forests take the glance
Of the white moon: and she is thine.
Could Plato's eyes divine
A soul in her wild countenance?
Where the secret faeries dance:
She hath watched the sylvan crew,
When the forests take the glance
Of the white moon: and she is thine.
Could Plato's eyes divine
A soul in her wild countenance?
1887.
| Poetical Works of Lionel Johnson | |