Clinton Scollard (1860–1932)

UNLIKE the soft enchantress known of yore

To Grecian men who sailed the balmy brine—

Dwelling in odorous gardens bowered with vine,

Where amorous waves crept up the shining shore—

She rules an isle where sullen surges roar,

Where stern, immaculate peaks rise, line on line,

And lures her victims with cold eyes that shine

’Neath pallid brows portentous evermore.

Yet her far songs of fame have wrought such charms

That men, forgetful of fair life’s eclipse,

Brave those still realms whereto she challengeth;

But when they feel her cruel, clinging arms,

The pressure of her stony, pulseless lips,

They find her kisses ope the door of death!