Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/127

 "O, who are these that will adjure thee, King, To put away this tender flower-thing, This love that is thy bliss? Dost thou think thou canst live indeed, and dare The joyless remnant of pale days, the bare Hard tomb, and feed through cold eternities  Thy heart without one kiss?

"Dost thou think empty prayers shall glad thy lips Kept red and living with perpetual sips Of Love's rich cup of wine? That thy fair body shall not fall away, And waste among the worms that bitter day Thou hast no lover round thy neck to twine  Fond arms like these of mine?

"I say they are no prophets,—very deaths, And plagues, and rottenness, do use their breaths Who speak against delight; Pale distant slayers of humanity Have tainted them, and sent them forth to try Weak lures to make man give up joyous right  Of days for empty night.