Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/171

Rh

He, the fair boy-god, whose nest Is in the water-lily's breast; He of the many-arrowed bow, Of the joys that come and go Like the leaves, and of the sighs Like the winds of summer skies, Blushes like the birds of spring, Soon seen and soon vanishing; He of hopes, and he of fears, He of smiles, and he of tears— Young, he has brought A sweet dream of coloured thought, One of love and woman's power, To 's sleeping hour.

Joyless and dark was his jewelled throne When awakened and found him alone.