Poems of Sentiment and Imagination/To a Beautiful Coquette
TO A BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE.
Say on; if I but hear thy lips
Make music with their balmy breath,
It is enough! I do not ask
That they revoke their doom of death.
Yes, I did take the poisoned cup
From thy fair hand, and madly drink;
And now, when I have found 'tis death,
Now, even now, I do not shrink.
Speak! tell me that my fevered brain
Was phrensied when I've thought thou'st smiled;
That the sweet hope I nursed so long
Was ill-begotten—Fancy's child.
Call me thy slave—a fond, mad fool—
Thou'lt say, alas, one mournful truth,
For I have wasted in this dream
The best of life, the pride of youth.
Say this, and more, and with the scorn
That suits thee better than thy smile,
Thy frown, though bitter, can not harm—
'Tis in the sweetness lurks the guile!
Ay, let thy proud lip wear for me
The scornful curve it graces so;
The challenge may perchance call forth
My slumbering pride—I do not know.
Yet hardly still can I despise
The falsehood that hath been so sweet;
Hardly, when thinking on our past,
My burning words of scorn repeat.
Yet do I scorn thee; in my soul
My nobler nature spurns thy art;
And though my senses are enthralled,
A higher shrine must have my heart.
Go, fair enchantress; not thy brow,
Or lip, or cheek, or witching grace,
Or seeming worth, can ever win
In this changed heart a lasting place.