Page:Prometheus Bound, and other poems.djvu/66

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So all beauty flows down to thee! I cannot make him

Look up at my grief; there's despair in my cry,

Since I wail for Adonis, who died to me. . died to me. .

—Then, I fear thee!—Art thou dead, my Adored?

Passion ends like a dream in the sleep that's denied to me.—

Cypris is widowed; the Loves seek their lord

All the house through in vain! Charm of cestus has ceased

With thy clasp!—O too bold in the hunt, past preventing;

Ay, mad: thou so fair. . . to have strife with a beast!"—

Thus did Cypris wail on—and the Loves are lamenting.

Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead,—

She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was shed;

And both turned into flowers for the earth's garden-close;

Her tears, to the wind-flower,—his blood, to the rose.

I mourn for Adonis—Adonis is dead.

Weep no more in the woods, Cytherea, thy lover!

So, well; make a place for his corse in thy bed,

With the purples thou sleepest in, under and over.

He's fair though a corse—a fair corse. . like a sleeper—

Lay soft in the silks he had pleasure to fold,