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Only a few narcissi here and there
Stand separate in sweet austerity,

Dotting the unmown grass with silver stars,
And here and there a daffodil waves tiny scimitars.

Hither the billow brought him, and was glad
Of such dear servitude, and where the land

Was virgin of all waters laid the lad
Upon the golden margent of the strand,

And like a lingering lover oft returned
To kiss those pallid limbs which once with intense fire burned,

Ere the wet seas had quenched that holocaust,
That self-fed flame, that passionate" target="_blank" title="a.易动情的;易怒的">passionate lustihead,

Ere grisly death with chill and nipping frost
Had withered up those lilies white and red

Which, while the boy would through the forest range,
Answered each other in a sweet antiphonal counter-change.

And when at dawn the wood-nymphs, hand-in-hand,
Threaded the bosky dell, their satyr spied

The boy's pale body stretched upon the sand,
And feared Poseidon's treachery, and cried,

And like bright sunbeams flitting through a glade
Each startled Dryad sought some safe and leafy ambuscade.

Save one white girl, who deemed it would not be
So dread a thing to feel a sea-god's arms

Crushing her breasts in amorous tyranny,
And longed to listen to those subtle charms

Insidious lovers weave when they would win
Some fenced fortress, and stole back again, nor thought it sin

To yield her treasure unto one so fair,
And lay beside him, thirsty with love's drouth,

Called him soft names, played with his tangled hair,
And with hot lips made havoc of his mouth

Afraid he might not wake, and then afraid
Lest he might wake too soon, fled back, and then, fond renegade,

Returned to fresh assault, and all day long
Sat at his side, and laughed at her new toy,

And held his hand, and sang her sweetest song,
Then frowned to see how froward was the boy

Who would not with her maidenhood entwine,
Nor knew that three days since his eyes had looked on Proserpine;

Nor knew what sacrilege his lips had done,
But said, 'He will awake, I know him well,

He will awake at evening when the sun
Hangs his red shield on Corinth's citadel;

This sleep is but a cruel treachery
To make me love him more, and in some cavern of the sea

Deeper than ever falls the fisher's line
Already a huge Triton blows his horn,

And weaves a garland from the crystalline
And drifting ocean-tendrils to adorn

The emerald pillars of our bridal bed,
For sphered in foaming silver, and with coral crowned head,

We two will sit upon a throne of pearl,
And a blue wave will be our canopy,

And at our feet the water-snakes will curl
In all their amethystine panoply

Of diamonded mail, and we will mark
The mullets swimming by the mast of some storm-foundered bark,

Vermilion-finned with eyes of bossy gold
Like flakes of crimson light, and the great deep

His glassy-portaled chamber will unfold,
And we will see the painted dolphins sleep

Cradled by murmuring halcyons on the rocks
Where Proteus in quaint suit of green pastures his monstrous

flocks.
And tremulous opal-hued anemones

Will wave their purplefringes where we tread
Upon the mirrored floor, and argosies

Of fishes flecked with tawny scales will thread
The drifting cordage of the shattered wreck,

And honey-coloured amber beads our twining limbs will deck.'
But when that baffled Lord of War the Sun

With gaudy pennon flying passed away
Into his brazen House, and one by one

The little yellow stars began to stray
Across the field of heaven, ah! then indeed

She feared his lips upon her lips would never care to feed,
And cried, 'Awake, already the pale moon

Washes the trees with silver, and the wave
Creeps grey and chilly up this sandy dune,

The croaking frogs are out, and from the cave
The nightjar shrieks, the fluttering bats repass,

And the brown stoat with hollow flanks creeps through the dusky
grass.

Nay, though thou art a god, be not so coy,
For in yon stream there is a little reed

That often whispers how a lovely boy
Lay with her once upon a grassy mead,

Who when his cruel pleasure he had done
Spread wings of rustling gold and soared aloft into the sun.

Be not so coy, the laurel trembles still
With great Apollo's kisses, and the fir

Whose clustering sisters fringe the seaward hill
Hath many a tale of that bold ravisher

Whom men call Boreas, and I have seen
The mocking eyes of Hermes through the poplar's silvery sheen.

Even the jealous Naiads call me fair,
And every morn a young and ruddy swain

Woos me with apples and with locks of hair,
And seeks to soothe my virginal disdain

By all the gifts the gentle wood-nymphs love;
But yesterday he brought to me an iris-plumaged dove

With little crimson feet, which with its store
Of seven spotted eggs the cruel lad

Had stolen from the lofty sycamore
At daybreak, when her amorous comrade had

Flown off in search of berried juniper
Which most they love; the fretful wasp, that earliest vintager

Of the blue grapes, hath not persistency
So constant as this simple shepherd-boy

For my poor lips, his joyous purity
And laughing sunny eyes might well decoy

A Dryad from her oath to Artemis;
For very beautiful is he, his mouth was made to kiss;

His argent forehead, like a rising moon
Over the dusky hills of meeting brows,

Is crescent shaped, the hot and Tyrian noon
Leads from the myrtle-grove no goodlier spouse

For Cytheraea, the first silky down
Fringes his blushing cheeks, and his young limbs are strong and

brown;
And he is rich, and fat and fleecy herds

Of bleating sheep upon his meadows lie,
And many an earthen bowl of yellow curds

Is in his homestead for the thievish fly
To swim and drown in, the pink clover mead

Keeps its sweet store for him, and he can pipe on oaten reed.
And yet I love him not; it was for thee

I kept my love; I knew that thou would'st come
To rid me of this pallid chastity,

Thou fairest flower of the flowerless foam
Of all the wide AEgean, brightest star

Of ocean's azure heavens where the mirrored planets are!
I knew that thou would'st come, for when at first

The dry wood burgeoned, and the sap of spring
Swelled in my green and tender bark or burst

To myriad multitudinous blossoming
Which mocked the midnight with its mimic moons

That did not dread the dawn, and first the thrushes' rapturous
tunes

Startled the squirrel from its granary,
And cuckoo flowers fringed the narrow lane,

Through my young leaves a sensuous ecstasy
Crept like new wine, and every mossy vein

Throbbed with the fitful pulse of amorous blood,
And the wild winds of passion shook my slim stem's maidenhood.

The trooping fawns at evening came and laid
Their cool black noses on my lowest boughs,

And on my topmost branch the blackbird made
A little nest of grasses for his spouse,

And now and then a twittering wren would light
On a thin twig which hardly bare the weight of such delight.

I was the Attic shepherd's trysting place,
Beneath my shadow Amaryllis lay,

And round my trunk would laughing Daphnis chase
The timorous girl, till tired out with play

She felt his hot breath stir her tangled hair,
And turned, and looked, and fled no more from such delightful

snare.
Then come away unto my ambuscade

Where clustering woodbine weaves a canopy
For amorous pleasaunce, and the rustling shade

Of Paphian myrtles seems to sanctify
The dearest rites of love; there in the cool

And green recesses of its farthest depth there is pool,
The ouzel's haunt, the wild bee's pasturage,

For round its rim great creamy lilies float
Through their flat leaves in verdant anchorage,

Each cup a white-sailed golden-laden boat
Steered by a dragon-fly, - be not afraid

To leave this wan and wave-kissed shore, surely the place was made
For lovers such as we; the Cyprian Queen,

One arm around her boyish paramour,
Strays often there at eve, and I have seen

The moon strip off her misty vestiture
For young Endymion's eyes; be not afraid,

The panther feet of Dian never tread that secret glade.
Nay if thou will'st, back to the beating brine,

Back to the boisterousbillow let us go,
And walk all day beneath the hyaline

Huge vault of Neptune's watery portico,
And watch the purple monsters of the deep

Sport in ungainly play, and from his lair keen Xiphias leap.
For if my mistress find me lying here

She will not ruth or gentle pity show,
But lay her boar-spear down, and with austere

Relentless fingers string the cornel bow,
And draw the feathered notch against her breast,

And loose the arched cord; aye, even now upon the quest
I hear her hurrying feet, - awake, awake,

Thou laggard in love's battle! once at least
Let me drink deep of passion's wine, and slake

My parched being with the nectarous feast
Which even gods affect! O come, Love, come,

Still we have time to reach the cavern of thine azure home.'
Scarce had she spoken when the shuddering trees

Shook, and the leaves divided, and the air
Grew conscious of a god, and the grey seas

Crawled backward, and a long and dismal blare
Blew from some tasselled horn, a sleuth-hound bayed,

And like a flame a barbed reed flew whizzing down the glade.


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