Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.
Le Jeune Homme Caressant Sa ChimèreJohn Addington Symonds (18401893)
A
Lying love-languid on a morn of May,
Watch’d half-asleep his goats insatiate browse
Thin shoots of thyme and lentisk, by the spray
Of biting sea-winds bitter made and grey:
Therewith when shadows fell, his waking thought
Of love into a wondrous dream was wrought.
For on her marble shoulders, like a mist
Irradiate with tawny moonrise, gleam’d
Thick silken tresses; her white woman’s wrist,
Glittering with snaky gold and amethyst,
Upheld a dainty chin; and there beneath,
Her twin breasts shone like pinks that lilies wreathe.
For as he gazed thereon, at times they darted
Dun rays like water in a dusky well;
Then turn’d to topaz: then like rubies smarted
With smouldering flames of passion tiger-hearted;
Then ’neath blue-veinèd lids swam soft and tender
With pleadings and shy timorous surrender.
Her panting breast with long melodious sighs,
Stirr’d o’er her neck and hair broad wings that sifted
The perfumes of meridian Paradise;
Dusk were they, furr’d like velvet, gemm’d with eyes
Of such dull lustre as in isles afar
Night-flying moths spread to the summer star.
Of pines innumerous near lisping waves—
Rustling of reeds and rushes on the verge
Of level lakes and naiad-haunted caves—
Drown’d whispers of a wandering stream that laves
Deep alder-boughs and tracts of ferny grass
Border’d with azure-bell’d campanulas.
With feet of woman this fair siren press’d
Sleek meadow swards or stony ways of earth;
But ’neath the silken marvel of her breast,
Display’d in sinuous length of coil and crest,
Glitter’d a serpent’s tail, fold over fold,
In massy labyrinths of languor roll’d.
Of emerald and opal, with the shine
Of rubies intermingled, and dim bars
Of twisting turquoise and pale coralline!
What rings and rounds! what thin streaks sapphirine
Freckled that gleaming glory, like the bed
Of Eden streams with gems enamellèd!
But luxury and love these coils between:
Faint grew the boy; the siren fill’d his ear
With singing sweet as when the village-green
Re-echoes to the tinkling tambourine,
And feet of girls aglow with laughter glance
In myriad mazy errors of the dance.
I know not; but thereafter never more
The peace of passionless slumber soothed the boy;
For he was stricken to the very core
With sickness of desire exceeding sore,
And through the radiance of his eyes there shone
Consuming fire too fierce to gaze upon.
Have touch’d, fade flower-like and cease to be—
Bade Charicles on agate carve a sign
Of his strange slumber: therefore can we see
Here in the ruddy gem’s transparency
The boy, the myrtle boughs, the triple spell
Of moth and snake and white witch terrible.