Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/91

 Not in the garb of the olden days,
 * But tricked with a tinselry of toys—

And she frowned as she met my eager gaze,
 * And she smiled o’er the foppish joys.

And she, high and haughtily, brushed me by,
 * To harvest the spoils of her fevered bliss—

To drink in the honeyed laugh and lie,
 * The honeyed serpent’s hiss.

Yes! the boreal wind cut keen and bleak,
 * And the heavens had frosty eyes once more,

For the apples I plucked from the Venus-cheek
 * Were petrified to the core!

And I sighed to my heart: “My love is rash,
 * Since these are the false and blasting fruits;

I thrust it back ’mid the diamond’s flash,
 * ’Mid the masquerade of flutes”!