  For RANDOLPH HUGHES ISUCH beauty is the magic of old kings Who webbed enchantments on the bowls of night, Who stole the ocean-coral for their rings, And samite-curls of mermaids for their light; Who sent their envoys from the courts of Kand, To find the blue-flowered crown of ecstasy That grows beneath a Titan’s quiet hand. The beauty that is yours is grown to me More fine than furthest snows in golden Ind, More fair indeed than doves, who draw the cars Of purpurate belief in monarch’s mind, With benediction of the ultimate stars. Because of all this knowledge born of you, Raise up my faith in stone, and keep men true. IIAlways your eyes, your hair, your cheek, your voice, Impel the wish I had a magic art; Your beauty’s kind can perfectly rejoice With delicate music all a poet’s heart, As voice of summer over hills of joy. Oh, you are utterly of beauty’s dance, Such kind of rhythmic beauty they employ, Where Pheidias shakes the Parthenon with prance Of his proud steeds, and prouder youths show us The glory of a fair Athenian day. Your beauty lived before tumultuous Chattering knaves sped time and faith away, Before the chime for Babylon was rung, Or from the cross men found the stars were hung! IIIMy love of most complete and dearest worth, Has ever breath of years, one day all spent, Mingled with thought of present smiling earth? Have you bethought you how so soon is sent To this poor passionate heart the Worm of Death With twined and intimate corrupt caress? Have you bethought you, how that your dear breath, Bathing the rose upon your mouth, shall press One day no more betwixt its petalled home? How all exceeding beauties exquisite Of limbs, of eyes, of hair, of cheek, shall come One day perhaps within that open night, Where sheep go plaintive on a lone highway, And ecstasy of love is far away? |
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