Ephemera (Buck)/Lost Love
LOST LOVE
So wanton at play thou wert, dishevelled with love; now thou playest with another, singing low the joys I first awoke in thee. Thou wert so gentle and voluptuous; now thou seekest another couch, and mine, still vaguely fragrant of thy limbs, is cold.
Does thy new friend stand, foot-weary, before thy door, sighing of desire? Does he bear thee, as to a shrine, garlands of the brightest roses to languish about thy love? Does he search out for thee the choicest wines to warm the all-desired blossoms of thy lips? . . . Though he protest his love, some day he will leave thee for another . . .
O faithless one, return to me. O child of Aphrodite, do not leave me desolate, lest I . . . forget thee . . . which would be worst of all.