Poems (Piatt)/Volume 2/A Coin of Lesbos
A COIN OF LESBOS.
I think how long she held it with a smile
(Her jealous lyre complaining on her breast),
Dust thick on everything!—and she, the while,
Forgetting it and Phaon and the rest!
(Her jealous lyre complaining on her breast),
Dust thick on everything!—and she, the while,
Forgetting it and Phaon and the rest!
With those great eyes, that had not longed as yet
To lose their tears in kindred brine, ah me!
Fixed on its precious glimmer: "It will get———
What will it get?" she murmured: "Let me see.
To lose their tears in kindred brine, ah me!
Fixed on its precious glimmer: "It will get———
What will it get?" she murmured: "Let me see.
"Some jewel that will more become my head
Than withering leaves of laurel? Nay, not so.
At least, I think, some lovelier robe," she said,
"Than any woman weareth that I know!"
Than withering leaves of laurel? Nay, not so.
At least, I think, some lovelier robe," she said,
"Than any woman weareth that I know!"
So, years ere that deep glass wherein she gazed
With her last look had flashed it to the sun,
So mused, I fancy, the most overpraised
Of women who have sung on earth—save one?
With her last look had flashed it to the sun,
So mused, I fancy, the most overpraised
Of women who have sung on earth—save one?