How oft, voluptuous, cruel sea,
When weary of the mime
That men call life, I turned to thee
In sunshine and in rime;
To buy surcrease of grief, and win
The peace thy whispers gave,
And hear, again, a lost voice in
The lyric of a wave.
No lover ever bent beside --
With passon-supple knee --
His idol's couch, at eventide,
In such wld ecstasy
As when, to catch -- though oft 'twas cold --
Thy opaescent eye,
I lay upon the fringe of gold
On thy drapery,
And watched thy palpitating breast,
Star gemmed, caress the sky
While, as by earth's sore sin distressed,
Thy lips would breath a sigh
That seemed a vesper sacrifice
Unto the highest Heaven,
That, like a tender plea, would rise
That Earth might be forgiven.
At morn thou wert in merrier mood,
When night from dawn would fly,
And poured into mine ear a flood
Of rippling melody.
'Mid all the fakse and fleeting ones
That brought me only rue,
And mocked at me, in dulcet tones,
I swore that thou were true.
But, now, I feel as lover feels
Who knows, with bitter smart,
His idol's snowy breast conceals
A black and murd'rous heart.
For all thy love but veiled thy greed,
Thy heat with malice burned,
And I am left bereft, indeed,
Since thou hast traitor turned
And folded to thy poisoned breast
Hearts that were blent with mine;
Ah! how I mourn I e'er caressed
So foul a heart as thine.
They heard thee sing as Syren sings,
And say thy Syren face,
But, lured by thy soft whisperings,
Found death in thy embrace.
'Twere naught, to one full oft betrayed,
Thou shouldst be false to me:
For love's delight is but hand-maid
To love's inconstancy.
But, greedy, envious, murd'rous flood,
What of those lives you stole?
Didst thou, then, crave of warm, young blood
So hideous a dole
That thou shouldst woo, with witching wiles,
And all a wanton's charms,
Those trustful ones, beguiled with smiles,
To crush them in thy arms?
Well may thy restless, throbbing surge
Bear witness to thy crime.
Rest nevermore! but let their dirge
With every throb keep time.
I hate the opalescent gleam
Of thy once-melting eye;
Thy sigh is now become a scream,
Thy melody a lie.
Forget thy amorous songs of yore,
Sing ne'er again to me,
But moan, alone, for evermore
For thy treachery.
First published in Melbourne Punch, 25 January 1906
Author reference site: Austlit.
See also.
When weary of the mime
That men call life, I turned to thee
In sunshine and in rime;
To buy surcrease of grief, and win
The peace thy whispers gave,
And hear, again, a lost voice in
The lyric of a wave.
No lover ever bent beside --
With passon-supple knee --
His idol's couch, at eventide,
In such wld ecstasy
As when, to catch -- though oft 'twas cold --
Thy opaescent eye,
I lay upon the fringe of gold
On thy drapery,
And watched thy palpitating breast,
Star gemmed, caress the sky
While, as by earth's sore sin distressed,
Thy lips would breath a sigh
That seemed a vesper sacrifice
Unto the highest Heaven,
That, like a tender plea, would rise
That Earth might be forgiven.
At morn thou wert in merrier mood,
When night from dawn would fly,
And poured into mine ear a flood
Of rippling melody.
'Mid all the fakse and fleeting ones
That brought me only rue,
And mocked at me, in dulcet tones,
I swore that thou were true.
But, now, I feel as lover feels
Who knows, with bitter smart,
His idol's snowy breast conceals
A black and murd'rous heart.
For all thy love but veiled thy greed,
Thy heat with malice burned,
And I am left bereft, indeed,
Since thou hast traitor turned
And folded to thy poisoned breast
Hearts that were blent with mine;
Ah! how I mourn I e'er caressed
So foul a heart as thine.
They heard thee sing as Syren sings,
And say thy Syren face,
But, lured by thy soft whisperings,
Found death in thy embrace.
'Twere naught, to one full oft betrayed,
Thou shouldst be false to me:
For love's delight is but hand-maid
To love's inconstancy.
But, greedy, envious, murd'rous flood,
What of those lives you stole?
Didst thou, then, crave of warm, young blood
So hideous a dole
That thou shouldst woo, with witching wiles,
And all a wanton's charms,
Those trustful ones, beguiled with smiles,
To crush them in thy arms?
Well may thy restless, throbbing surge
Bear witness to thy crime.
Rest nevermore! but let their dirge
With every throb keep time.
I hate the opalescent gleam
Of thy once-melting eye;
Thy sigh is now become a scream,
Thy melody a lie.
Forget thy amorous songs of yore,
Sing ne'er again to me,
But moan, alone, for evermore
For thy treachery.
First published in Melbourne Punch, 25 January 1906
Author reference site: Austlit.
See also.
