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Show SESTINA. By Harris Merton Lyon. Here in the moonlit garden where I dream The silver beams work sestines on the earth; Out from the acacia drips the nightblrd's song; All honey-sweet, the orchard's stir of bloom Upwaifts a faint, lush scent, and I, the man, The poet, weave a sestine to my love. O, Salome, O, Salome, my love! Gome down among the pomegranates and dream Beside me while I make a song of Man. For, though you are the Princess of the Earth And though a king do homage to your bloom, Yet is there something for you in my 'song. Oh, you have eyes like emeralds and a song Runs with a flute's note through your-words; and love Smokes from your lips; your shoulder's rosy bloom Would call the gods down from the Hill of Dream, O,- Salome, the jasmine of the earth! Yet I would sing to you a song of Man. .Beware of Man for you shall come to man; Your body with Its beauty and its song. Then you shall wish that you are born of earth And that this maiden dream of faery love, Of spirit, grace and soul is but a dream That poets sing when orchards are in bloom. Those tulips in your cheeks that hotly bloom You soon shall find are blossoming for man, And all those little arts which now you dream You use to lure, your emerald eyes, your song, Your cloud-like hair, your bosom full of love, Do only lure the lily back to earth. Earth is the end of all your passions Earth! Is this too bitter, sweet? Tangle the bloom About your splendid forehead; tremble with love; Dream all your drowsy conquests over man! You are too young to-night to heed my song, Let down your incense-laden hair and dream. I know, sweetheart, the earth is filled with bloom, With man a glorious song and many a dream, Why should I sing thus, love? I am a man. ' - " Mirror. |