And broad and fresh,

Till red the carmine fleck

Leap'd in her shoulder like a peach's flesh,

'Twas kist so cruelly.

Closely he look'd into her beryl-eyes;

And, broke with love,

By soft words, and hot sighs

Like philtres, through her calmness sought to move;

But she the while, as one with little care,

With courbent fingers strove

To snap the pin

Of rubies, and let bare

The lawn about her boddice, and therein

To fondle-fold her dove.

And pouting in the full curves of her lips,

An agriot red,

With juice-stain'd finger-tips,

She fawn'd and fondled on its creamy head;

And then she stoop'd, and gracile, kiss'd its beak,

Yet never one word said,

The love to ease

Of him too broke to speak,

Who crushed i' the noisy satin at her knees

His face as in a bed.

At length, when like to any scullion-knave,

To

She bid him go;

He slunk away, a slave

every look of hers; but with a throe

Of love that knit his brow and clench'd his fist,

And made his brain to glow

Like wine and fire.

Then close her hand he kist,

And went, a cursing this her hard desire,

Yet fain to please her so.

Once more alone, she rose i' the purple light,

Tall as a queen,

With large and lissom height,

And lovely languors in her comely mien,

"Great love," she said, "works evil like great hate ;'

And laid a glass of green,

Blown clear with gold

And blues, athwart a plate

Of rose and opal; and then slowly told

Some oozy drug therein.

Then slurred a cherry through, and, from her breast,

Perked up the head

Of that fond dove caress'd,

Warm on her flesh, in kisses lately fed ;

And on its beak she toy'd as just before,

Dangling the fruit, and said :

"He loves me so—

:

Then stroked the bird that flutter'd down, and lo! There at her feet lay dead.

With little heed she placed the phials back,

And closed with care

The casket, ebon-black,

And chased with ivory sibyls; comb in hair,

She stood an instant at the window-bar,

And breath'd the last warm air;

Then shut it close

As rose the evening star

Above the street; and then the pearl and rose

Unbraided from her hair.

And all night long beside her lover-bird,

With plaintive cry,

The sad mate never stirred,

But bill'd his ruffled neck, and like to die, Heard but her own low grief the echoes keep To mock her in reply,

And like a charm

To soothe to sweetest sleep,

Her white-rose cheek just dimpling on her arm, The lady couch'd thereby.

G

THE ROSE OF THE WORLD.

SHE has roses rimm'd around her head,
And wreaths of roses around her throat,
Or creamy, or crimson, or rose-bud red,

Or white, pure white as the winding float
A-filming along the noon-day sky,
On waifs of wind that wander by
The boughs of roses, she and I
Are courting 'neath so comelily.

There's one red bud that balms her breast,

Where two bright beetles have made their bed,

In gold and green, and glimmery dress'd,

For each, the other be-jewelled :

Where each may dream the self-same thing,
Of folded foot and of winding wing,
And leaves that lock, and cleave and cling,
And drown them too with perfuming.