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From “Reflections”
THE CLEAR line of her profile reminded me of an ancient relief | |
| I saw at the Louvre—some Ceasar’s wife | |
| Tranquil and wise, gazing unregretfully | |
| Across the hysteric ages into old Rome. | |
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| Long, long ago, I thought, some great senator | 5 |
| Lay at her feet, and watched the evening light | |
| Stamp her face on the smooth wall; and wondered | |
| At her beauty—and how the shadows of her lashes | |
| Made fine laces on her cheeks, and how her eyes | |
| Caught the sun and burned deeply and evenly. | 10 |
| And he smiled at the amorous curve of her chin and wished | |
| To touch her lips—wine and silk and poesy. | |
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| That was, perhaps, in Rome; but I know now | |
| My lady has a leper’s heart; her lips | |
| Are torture, and her eyes reflect such shame | 15 |
| There is no help; and on her cheek there clings | |
| The sad voluptuousness of drunken Time, | |
| Dancing like a cretin in an aimless whirl. | |
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| I find no harmony; I had no right to try | |
| To gain such end while all the wise ones sneer. | 20 |
| When years have tired, and turn their meagre faces | |
| Again to the old, there may again be peace | |
| For poets singing; there may again be love. | |
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