  "Liber eram et vacuo meditabar vivere lecto——" I I was free. I thought that I had entered Love's Antarctic Zone. "A truce to sentiment," I said. "My nights shall be my own." But Love has double-crossed me. How can Beauty be so fair? The grace of her, the face of her—and oh, her yellow hair! And oh, the wondrous walk of her! So doth a goddess glide. Jove's sister—ay, or Pallas—hath no statelier a stride. Fair as Ischomache herself, the Lapithanian maid; Or Brimo when at Mercury's side her virgin form she laid. Surrender now, ye goddesses whom erst the shepherd spied! Upon the heights of Ida lay your vestitures aside! May never, never Age at those delightful features nibble! II I thought that I was wholly free, That I had Love upon the shelf; "Hereafter," I declared in glee, "I'll have my evenings to myself." How can such mortal beauty live? (Ah, Jove, thine errings I forgive!) Her tresses pale the sunlight's gold; Her hands are featly formed, and taper; Her—well, the rest ought not be told In any modest family paper. Fair as Ischomache, and bright As Brimo. QuÆque queen is right. O goddesses of long ago, A shepherd called ye sweet and slender. He saw ye, so he ought to know; But sooth, to her ye must surrender. O may a million years not trace A single line upon that face! |
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