To ——
Moist stars that glimmer on a midnight pool,Those are your eyes. They seem to baffle FateIn sheer serenity, as thought they waitFor things we dream not of, as though the spoolOf destiny turned slowly to a ruleWell known by them, as though mere love and hateWere far below their grand all-seeing stateOf unimpassioned wisdom, clear and cool.Yet in full tragic curves those lips betrayUnsatiated sadness: dost foresee,Perchance, an aged couple by the fire,Love dead, and beauty turned to common clay?Nay, we have song! Age brings no fears to me:Time cannot stem the magic of the lyre!ARTHUR MILLIKEN.
Moist stars that glimmer on a midnight pool,Those are your eyes. They seem to baffle FateIn sheer serenity, as thought they waitFor things we dream not of, as though the spoolOf destiny turned slowly to a ruleWell known by them, as though mere love and hateWere far below their grand all-seeing stateOf unimpassioned wisdom, clear and cool.Yet in full tragic curves those lips betrayUnsatiated sadness: dost foresee,Perchance, an aged couple by the fire,Love dead, and beauty turned to common clay?Nay, we have song! Age brings no fears to me:Time cannot stem the magic of the lyre!ARTHUR MILLIKEN.
Moist stars that glimmer on a midnight pool,Those are your eyes. They seem to baffle FateIn sheer serenity, as thought they waitFor things we dream not of, as though the spoolOf destiny turned slowly to a ruleWell known by them, as though mere love and hateWere far below their grand all-seeing stateOf unimpassioned wisdom, clear and cool.
Moist stars that glimmer on a midnight pool,
Those are your eyes. They seem to baffle Fate
In sheer serenity, as thought they wait
For things we dream not of, as though the spool
Of destiny turned slowly to a rule
Well known by them, as though mere love and hate
Were far below their grand all-seeing state
Of unimpassioned wisdom, clear and cool.
Yet in full tragic curves those lips betrayUnsatiated sadness: dost foresee,Perchance, an aged couple by the fire,Love dead, and beauty turned to common clay?Nay, we have song! Age brings no fears to me:Time cannot stem the magic of the lyre!
Yet in full tragic curves those lips betray
Unsatiated sadness: dost foresee,
Perchance, an aged couple by the fire,
Love dead, and beauty turned to common clay?
Nay, we have song! Age brings no fears to me:
Time cannot stem the magic of the lyre!
ARTHUR MILLIKEN.
ARTHUR MILLIKEN.