POEMS
To whom the Siren sings in vain
To-day, to-morrow who shall be
The destined sport of gods and men.
To-day, to-morrow who shall be
The destined sport of gods and men.
Unseen the immortal ones are here,
Remembering their mortal loves—
The strange, sweet flesh, the lips that were
Frail and most perishably fair.
Diana leaves her whispering groves,
And of Actæon dreams and sighs,
And hears the hounds bay in the wood.
Oh, Cythera, the trembling blood
Upon one petal's paling mouth
Before thee and this noon must rise
While thou remember Adon's eyes!
One mournful and complaining shade
Beyond Avernus bows his head,
Dreaming of one beloved youth
Borne from him, lost and dazed and dead,
Dragged by the nymphs' avenging hair
Into the sea-bed oozing dim,
In that cold twilight unaware
Of each great sunrise over him.
Remembering their mortal loves—
The strange, sweet flesh, the lips that were
Frail and most perishably fair.
Diana leaves her whispering groves,
And of Actæon dreams and sighs,
And hears the hounds bay in the wood.
Oh, Cythera, the trembling blood
Upon one petal's paling mouth
Before thee and this noon must rise
While thou remember Adon's eyes!
One mournful and complaining shade
Beyond Avernus bows his head,
Dreaming of one beloved youth
Borne from him, lost and dazed and dead,
Dragged by the nymphs' avenging hair
Into the sea-bed oozing dim,
In that cold twilight unaware
Of each great sunrise over him.
······
One day, while still these waters run,
And noon still heaves beneath this sun,
And noon still heaves beneath this sun,
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