Page:The Yellow Book - 07.djvu/131



By Leila Macdonald , my Cœlia, that your grace
 * Could not prevail on ardent Death
 * To spare your sweet perfumed breath,

The youthful glories of your face. But still you smile: Your beauty, never conquered yet, Disdains the tears of men's regret.

Across your curved and rosy ears,
 * How fair the curlng ringlets fell,
 * And kissed your bosom's snowy swell—

Olympus to your lover's tears. We wonder now, Within your body's rounded grace What woman's soul found resting—place?

And in what flowered path of bliss
 * Did the stern Fates direct your feet?
 * Where only youth and beauty meet,

And every bower conceals a kiss? Ah, happy maid! That bowed your head to Love's command, The fairest mistress in the land. What