 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
201
TO THE LADY KITTY
A year ago you were a child
Of rounded cheek and slender limb;
A spring that bubbled undefiled
With pleasure, pleasure to the brim.
Of rounded cheek and slender limb;
A spring that bubbled undefiled
With pleasure, pleasure to the brim.
'Twas almost sweet to see you fret,
To win you back to joy again;
The azure gleam through eyelids wet
Broke fresh as sunshine after rain.
To win you back to joy again;
The azure gleam through eyelids wet
Broke fresh as sunshine after rain.
Your sweet advances shyly made,
Your soft caresses hardly won,
Were pure as though an angel prayed
And fickle as the April sun.
Your soft caresses hardly won,
Were pure as though an angel prayed
And fickle as the April sun.
You were not fair, as some are fair,
Because your dreams were grave and high;
Naught lay behind your golden hair,
And your incomparable eye.
Because your dreams were grave and high;
Naught lay behind your golden hair,
And your incomparable eye.
You seemed as free as winds that his
All day within the tasselled pine;
The breath of your reluctant kiss
Was warm and sweet as honeyed wine.
All day within the tasselled pine;
The breath of your reluctant kiss
Was warm and sweet as honeyed wine.
202
Poor baby hand, ungainly grown!
Poor restless limbs that lounge and lie!
The dreams of sovereignty o'erthrown
Still plead in your pathetic eye.
Poor restless limbs that lounge and lie!
The dreams of sovereignty o'erthrown
Still plead in your pathetic eye.
Is beauty like ethereal dew
Absorbed from hence to settle there?
And has it flown, poor child, from you,
To flaunt and blossom otherwhere?
Absorbed from hence to settle there?
And has it flown, poor child, from you,
To flaunt and blossom otherwhere?
Obsequious courtiers hemmed you round;—
Neglectful now they pass you by;
You knew not why, but you were crowned;
You are dethroned, you know not why.
Neglectful now they pass you by;
You knew not why, but you were crowned;
You are dethroned, you know not why.
Yet murmur not: no reigning lord
Is served with half such tender care,
As he whose chamber is the sward,
His canopy the common air.
Is served with half such tender care,
As he whose chamber is the sward,
His canopy the common air.
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |