Ermione

THE tender sky was strown with roses pale....
Your eyes dreamed, shadowed by your wideawake
You floated in your mantle folds; with ache
Of inexpressible things your heart grown frail,

 

The tender sky was strown with roses pale ...
Bent over mine like an iris over a lake.

 

With violets were strown the heavens sad ...
And something numb, I know not what, disguised
Your soul, and your pale smile etherealized;
And underneath your veil your frail face had,

 

With violets were strown the heavens sad ...
The softened tones of a Lawrence pastellized.

 

Yet it was only, in the amethyst
Of evening, souls with meeting glances thrilled,
Sweetness of drops of kisses that distilled,

 

Yet it was only in the amethyst
Of evening, music of love on senses stilled.

 

Chaste in the raiment of your soul you walked,
After you like a tamed wild beast desire.
And I did in the evening's cool respire
My prowling dream trapped in your veil and baulked.

 

Chaste in the raiment of your soul you walked,
And in your purity was quenched my fire.

 

And since I left you, from that hour I keep
Your mystery with which I am beguiled,
To translate with the stammering of a child,
The charm of a vague smile on lips that weep,

 

And an echo of lingering autumn, like a deep
Sob of a horn wandering on waters wild.