It cannot be again—your strong arms round me,
The full heart-surge and the exquisite fear—
Never—till all the stars like dust are scattered—
Yet—once it was, my dear.
The full heart-surge and the exquisite fear—
Never—till all the stars like dust are scattered—
Yet—once it was, my dear.
THE DESERTED PALACE
The slender columns rising
Above the dusky water
Are pomegranate marble,
The low archways between
Are wreathed with drooping poppies
And hundred-petalled daisies
Each wrought in creamy stucco
Dimmed by the shadows' green.
Above the dusky water
Are pomegranate marble,
The low archways between
Are wreathed with drooping poppies
And hundred-petalled daisies
Each wrought in creamy stucco
Dimmed by the shadows' green.
But row on row above them
Stare round-browed glassless windows
From walls whose ancient whiteness
The sun and rain have streaked
With lemon, rose and lilac;
And on the shallow stairway
A thousand shells are lying
With strangest colors freaked.
Stare round-browed glassless windows
From walls whose ancient whiteness
The sun and rain have streaked
With lemon, rose and lilac;
And on the shallow stairway
A thousand shells are lying
With strangest colors freaked.
For some of satin paleness
Are flecked with deep carnation,
And fragile, spiky Venus-combs
Meant for the mermaids' hair,
And brittle scallops mottled
And rayed like pansy-petals,
And tiny, pink-lipped conches—
Who could have brought them there?
Are flecked with deep carnation,
And fragile, spiky Venus-combs
Meant for the mermaids' hair,
And brittle scallops mottled
And rayed like pansy-petals,
And tiny, pink-lipped conches—
Who could have brought them there?
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