Part 8 (1/2)

BEAUTY THAT IS NEVER OLD

When buffeted and beaten by life's storms, When by the bitter cares of life oppressed, I want no surer haven than your arms, I want no sweeter heaven than your breast.

When over my life's way there falls the blight Of sunless days, and nights of starless skies; Enough for me, the calm and steadfast light That softly s.h.i.+nes within your loving eyes.

The world, for me, and all the world can hold Is circled by your arms; for me there lies, Within the lights and shadows of your eyes, The only beauty that is never old.

VENUS IN A GARDEN

'Twas at early morning, The dawn was blus.h.i.+ng in her purple bed, When in a sweet, embowered garden She, the fairest of the G.o.ddesses, The lovely Venus, Roamed amongst the roses white and red.

She sought for flowers To make a garland For her golden head.

Snow-white roses, blood-red roses, In that sweet garden close, Offered incense to the G.o.ddess: Both the white and the crimson rose.

White roses, red roses, blossoming: But the fair Venus knew The crimson roses had gained their hue From the hearts that for love had bled; And the G.o.ddess made a garland Gathered from the roses red.

VASHTI

I sometimes take you in my dreams to a far-off land I used to know, Back in the ages long ago; a land of palms and languid streams.

A land, by night, of jeweled skies, by day, of sh.o.r.es that glistened bright, Within whose arms, outstretched and white, a sapphire sea lay crescent-wise.

Where twilight fell like silver floss, where rose the golden moon half-hid Behind a shadowy pyramid; a land beneath the Southern Cross.

And there the days dreamed in their flight, each one a poem chanted through, Which at its close was merged into the muted music of the night.

And you were a princess in those days. And I--I was your serving lad.

But who ever served with heart so glad, or lived so for a word of praise?

And if that word you chanced to speak, how all my senses swayed and reeled, Till low beside your feet I kneeled, with happiness o'erwrought and weak.

If, when your golden cup I bore, you deigned to lower your eyes to mine, Eyes cold, yet fervid, like the wine, I knew not how to wish for more.

I trembled at the thought to dare to gaze upon, to scrutinize The deep-sea mystery of your eyes, the sun-lit splendor of your hair.

To let my timid glances rest upon you long enough to note How fair and slender was your throat, how white the promise of your breast.