Page:Ephemera, Greek prose poems (IA ephemeragreek00buckrich).pdf/36



High on the terrace, the hot night close about me, the starry sky pressing down over mine eyes, I lie stretched out upon a couch awaiting forgetfulness which never comes. Crouched on the floor at my feet, a slave girl dreams gently, one slender arm thrown out across the draperies, a cheek pillowed on a hollowed shoulder.

Instead of the sleep for which I long in vain, innumerable visions flit across my memory—gleaming visions of beauty with eyes that gaze at me and hands that beckon I curse them, shadows of joys which never were and, one by one, they fade away.

One vision only never fades as I toss sleepless upon my couch—one vision with golden hair where once my hands strayed undenied alas! With soft, warm lips where once I drank of immortality—one vision with averted head and white limbs fragrant with another love than mine

I stir uneasily and groan. The slave girl awakes with a whimpering sigh and, raising her head, looks at me with drowsy, questioning eyes.