Tricoloured its flag is flaunted, And it vomits vapour red, And it beats the billows daunted, Till the nymphs dive low for dread. Fearlessly they did beleaguer Triremes immemorial, And the dolphins arched and eager Waited for Arion's call. This of old. But now the steamer-- Vulcan hurtling Venus' charms,-- Would destroy the siren gleamer, With her fair, nude tail and arms. Farewell myth! The boat that passes Thinks to see on silver bar, Where the widening billow glasses, Porpoises that plunge afar. TWO LOVE-LOCKS Reviving languorous dreaming Of conquered, conquering eye, Upon thy forehead gleaming, Two fairest love-locks lie. I see them softly nesting, Of wondrous, golden sheen, Like little wheels come resting From car of Mab the Queen; Or bows of Cupid ready To let the arrows fly, Bent circlewise and steady For archer's mastery. One heart have I of passion. Yet two love-locks are thine! O brow of fickle fashion! Whose heart is caught with mine? THE TEA-ROSE Most beautiful of all the roses Is this half-open bud, whose bare, Unpetalled heart a dream discloses Of carmine very faint and fair. I wonder, was it once a white rose, Till butterfly too ardent spoke A language soft, and in the light rose A shyer, warmer tint awoke? Its delicate fabric hath the colour Of lovely and velutinous skin. Its perfect freshness maketh duller Environing hues incarnadine. For as some rare patrician features Eclipse the brows of ruddier gleam, So masquerade as rustic creatures Gay sisters of this rose supreme. But, dear one, if your hand caress it, And raise it for its sweet perfume, Ere yet your velvet cheek shall press it, 'T will fade before a fairer bloom. No rose in all the world so tender, That gloweth in the springtime fleet, But shall its every charm surrender Unto your seventeen years, my sweet. A face hath more than petal's power: A pure heart's blood that blushing flows O'er youth's nobility, is flower High sovereign over every rose. CARMEN Slender is Carmen, of lissome guise, Her hair is black as the midnight's heart; Dark circles are under her gypsy eyes, Her swarthy skin is the devil's art. The women will mock at her form and face; But the men will follow her all the day. Toledo's Archbishop (now save His Grace!) Tones his mass at her knees, they say. Nestled in warmth of her amber neck Lies a massive coil, till she fling it down To be a raiment to frame and deck Her delicate body from foot to crown. Then out from her pallid face with power Her witching, terrible smiles compel. Her mouth is a mystical poison-flower That hath drawn its crimson from hearts in hell. The haughtiest beauty must yield her fame, When this strange vision shall dusk her sky. For Carmen rules, and her glance's flame Shall set the torch to satiety. Wild, graceless Carmen!--Though yet this be, Savour she hath of a world undreamt, Of a world of wonder, whose salt young sea Provoked a Venus to rise and tempt. WHAT THE SWALLOWS SAY AN AUTUMN SONG