Pike County Ballads and Other Poems






L'AMOUR DU MENSONGE.

                AFTER CHARLES BAUDELAIRE.
  When I behold thee, O my indolent love,
    To the sound of ringing brazen melodies,
  Through garish halls harmoniously move,
    Scattering a scornful light from languid eyes;

  When I see, smitten by the blazing lights,
    Thy pale front, beauteous in its bloodless glow
  As the faint fires that deck the Northern nights,
    And eyes that draw me wheresoe'er I go;

  I say, She is fair, too coldly strange for speech;
    A crown of memories, her calm brow above,
  Shines; and her heart is like a bruised red peach,
    Ripe as her body for intelligent love.

  Art thou late fruit of spicy savour and scent?
    A funeral vase awaiting tearful showers?
  An Eastern odour, waste and oasis blent?
    A silken cushion or a bank of flowers?

  I know there are eyes of melancholy sheen
    To which no passionate secrets e'er were given;
  Shrines where no god or saint has ever been,
    As deep and empty as the vault of Heaven.

  But what care I if this be all pretence?
    'Twill serve a heart that seeks for truth no more.
  All one thy folly or indifference,—
    Hail, lovely mask, thy beauty I adore!

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