SONG. 281 SONG. My goblet's golden lips are dry, Rain, O! rain, or it will die; Arise, and get thee wings to-night, Thy wines, a hill no more, But darkly frown A cloud, where eagles dare not soar, Dropping rain down! T. L. Beddoes. 282 THE PHANTOM-WOOER. THE PHANTOM-WOOER. A GHOST that loved a lady fair Of midnight at her pillow stood; Sweet and sweet is their poison'd note, Young soul, put off your flesh, and come Our bed is lovely, dark, and sweet; And the warm leaden sheet. Dear and dear is their poison'd note, T. L. Beddoes. THE CARD-DEALER. 283 THE CARD-DEALER. COULD you not drink her gaze like wine? Into the silence languidly As a tune into a tune, Those eyes unravel the coiled night The gold that's heaped beside her hand, In truth rich prize it were; And rich the dreams that wreathe her brows And he were rich that should unwind That woven golden hair. . Around her, where she sits, the dance Now breathes its eager heat; And not more lightly or more true Fall there the dancer's feet Than fall her cards on the bright board Her fingers let them softly through, Smooth polished silent things; And each one as it falls reflects Blood-red and purple, green and blue, 280 FOR TITIAN. . FOR TITIAN. THEN in a room he stood wherein there was In one quick glance these things his eyes did see, There sat a girl, whose dripping tresses rolled Naked she was, the kisses of her feet Her eyes were shut, but she seemed not to sleep, William Morris. SONG. 281 SONG. My goblet's golden lips are dry, Rain, O! rain, or it will die; Arise, and get thee wings to-night, Thy wines, a hill no more, But darkly frown A cloud, where eagles dare not soar, Dropping rain down! T. L. Beddoes. |