Poems (Piatt)/Volume 1/A Lily of the Nile
A LILY OF THE NILE.
Who was the beautiful woman whose lover Once left her this dead old flower, did you say?Well, perhaps that is she in the picture over The vase with the flowers which you gathered to-day.
The one with the deep strange dress, that is flowing All purple and pearls through each stiffened fold,And the band on her forehead, whose dusk-red glowing Shoots into great sharp thorns of gold.
Never mind the light. You will see, to-morrow, That, with eyes raised darkly and lips close-rest,She is giving away her awful sorrow To the snake she keeps at her breast!
"And who was her lover?" Why, that may be he, there, In the other picture glimmering nigh—Yes, the handsome and wretched man you see there, Falling against his sword to die.
Will he die for her, do you say? (Ah, will he?) No doubt he has often told her so!"Did it bloom far away, this crumbling lily?" Very far and so long ago.
And who gave it to me?———So the withered story I've dreamed by the twilight all this while,For some vanished blossom's day of glory, Is your truth, my Lily of the Nile.
For the beautiful woman is slowly dying Of a snake as plain as this to my sight;And her lover who gave her this flower is lying On the edge of a sword to-night.