Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/110

 Here, in the hot June midnight, grave and lone,
 * By the dull candle’s flare,

I weave unutterable words, and moan
 * Over a woman’s hair.

“Only a woman’s hair!” and still I sob
 * O’er memory with her pearls,

Crushing my brows with anguish till they throb—
 * Writhing my soul with curls.

No—no! I must not ponder things like these;
 * Be mine a breast of mail—

Though but a Nautilus of frenzied seas,
 * Swift—solitary—frail.

The world will know you not, my song, for you
 * Speak but to one, and say

Something I dare not, to an eve of blue
 * When I am far away.

I dare not—for I flit the waif of chance,
 * A riddle few have read,

Like the Grand Duke, I’ve had my day’s romance,
 * Like the Grand Duke, am dead.