ASPASIA.
O, ye Athenians, drunken with self-praise,
What dreams I had of you, beside the sea,
In far Miletus, while the golden days
Slid into silver nights, so sweet to me;
For then I dreamed my day-dreams sweetly o'er,
Fancying the touch of Pallas on my brow—
Libations of both heart and wine did pour,
And offered up my being with my vow.
'Twas thus to Athens my heart drew at last—
My life, my soul, myself. Ah, well, I learn
To love and loathe the bonds that hold me fast,
Your captive and your conqueror in turn;
Am I not shamed to match my charms with those
Of fair boy-beauties? gentled for your love
To match the freshness of the morning rose,
And lisp in murmurs like the cooing dove?
O, men of Athens, by the purple sea
In far Miletus, when I dreamed of you,
Watching the winged ships that invited me
To follow their white track upon the blue;
'Twas the desire to mate my lofty soul
That drew me ever like a viewless chain
Toward Homer's land of heroes, 'till I stole
Away from home and dreams, to you and pain.
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