Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/140



Ave Faustina Imperatrix, morituri te salutant.

back, and get some minutes' peace; Let your head lean Back to the shoulder with its fleece Of locks, Faustine.

The shapely silver shoulder stoops, Weighed over clean With state of splendid hair that droops Each side, Faustine.

Let me go over your good gifts That crown you queen; A queen whose kingdom ebbs and shifts Each week, Faustine.

Bright heavy brows well gathered up: White gloss and sheen; Carved lips that make my lips a cup To drink, Faustine,