Poems with Fables in Prose By Frederic Herbert Trench |
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The Gemless Ring
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 | Poems with Fables in Prose |  |
116
The Gemless Ring
Ah, hoop of gold that binds the maid
Within thy faery circuit strayed!
No gem of murdered blood divine,
No dragon green of jasper's thine,
No piping shepherd-boy and flock
Drowsed on the Ethiopian rock
And sovran 'gainst the Bacchic mist
Sleeps in thee, shut in amethyst;
Nor Isis in chalcedony
Protecteth, floating fadelessly.
Within thy faery circuit strayed!
No gem of murdered blood divine,
No dragon green of jasper's thine,
No piping shepherd-boy and flock
Drowsed on the Ethiopian rock
And sovran 'gainst the Bacchic mist
Sleeps in thee, shut in amethyst;
Nor Isis in chalcedony
Protecteth, floating fadelessly.
Why hast no serpent-wreathen wand
Bescored on thee by diamond?
No Wingèd Foot, departure's mark,
Treading out Life in garnet dark,
Or signed in gloomy emerald
Where stands Serapis pedestal'd
'Mid sceptred Æons plumed and starred?
No name they write on Indian sard
Nor dreaded word from Dian's zone
Legends thee, seal without a stone!
Bescored on thee by diamond?
No Wingèd Foot, departure's mark,
Treading out Life in garnet dark,
Or signed in gloomy emerald
Where stands Serapis pedestal'd
'Mid sceptred Æons plumed and starred?
No name they write on Indian sard
Nor dreaded word from Dian's zone
Legends thee, seal without a stone!
Yet, seeing no mage since time began
Hath found a greater talisman,
Since puissant was thy gleaming pure
Both to preserve and to allure,
Destroyers of this amulet
May look back, and lament thee yet!
Hath found a greater talisman,
Since puissant was thy gleaming pure
117
Destroyers of this amulet
May look back, and lament thee yet!
Thou hast outweathered many an age
Hid in the missal's burning page;
Queens unto Christ in pilgrim guise
Tossed thee, with prayer for paradise,
And felt thee rained from Zion's gate
Back to the cold hand laid in state!
Over the fiord of spirits gone
I hear great harpers harp thee on! . . .
But who shall now thy bond endure?
Farewell! thou art too plain and pure!
Hid in the missal's burning page;
Queens unto Christ in pilgrim guise
Tossed thee, with prayer for paradise,
And felt thee rained from Zion's gate
Back to the cold hand laid in state!
Over the fiord of spirits gone
I hear great harpers harp thee on! . . .
But who shall now thy bond endure?
Farewell! thou art too plain and pure!
| Poems with Fables in Prose | |