As soon as she had opened eyes on him,
She closed those eyes to all the world beside,
And her soul crazed, a-doting on her jewel,--
Her jewel in a golden cradle set;
Opening and shutting which her day's delight,
To gaze upon his heart-inflaming cheek--
Upon the darling whom, could she, she would
Have cradled as the baby of her eye.
In rose and musk she wash'd him--to his lips
Press'd the pure sugar from the honeycomb;
And when, day over, she withdrew her milk,
She made, and having laid him in, his bed,
Burn'd all night like a taper o'er his head.
Then still as morning came, and as he grew,
She dressed him like a little idol up;
On with his robe--with fresh collyrium dew
Touch'd his narcissus eyes--the musky locks
Divided from his forehead--and embraced
With gold and ruby girdle his fine waist.
"THE MOON AND ROSES"
Sat a lover solitary
Self-discoursing in a corner,
Passionate and ever-changing
Invocation pouring out:
Sometimes sun and moon; and sometimes
Under hyacinth half-hidden
Roses; or the lofty cypress,
And the little weed below.
Nightingaling thus a noodle
Heard him, and, completely puzzled,--
"What!" quoth he, "and you, a lover,
Raving not about your mistress,
But about the moon and roses!"
Answer'd he: "O thou that aimest
Wide of love, and lover's language
Wholly misinterpreting;
Sun and moon are but my lady's
Self, as any lover knows;
Hyacinth I said, and meant her
Hair--her cheek was in the rose--
And I myself the wretched weed
That in her cypress shadow grows."