On the white of her shoulder bare, Whose marble Paros lends, As through the Polar twilight fair, Invisible frost descends. What beaming virgin snow, What pith a reed within, What Host, what taper, did bestow The white of her matchless skin? Was she made of a milky drop On the blue of a winter heaven? The lily-blow on the stem's green top? The foam of the sea at even? Of the marble still and cold, Wherein the great gods dwell? Of creamy opal gems that hold Faint fires of mystic spell? Or the organ's ivory keys? Her winged fingers oft Like butterflies flit over these, With kisses pending soft. Of the ermine's stainless fold, Whose white, warm touches fall On shivering shoulders and on bold, Bright shields armorial? Of the phantom flowers of frost Enscrolled on the window clear? Of the fountain drop in the chill air lost, An Undine's frozen tear? Of May bent low with the sweets Of her bountiful white-thorn bloom? Of alabaster that repeats The pallor of grief and gloom? Of the feathers of doves that slip And snow on the gable steep? Of slow stalactite's tear-white drip In cavernous places deep? Came she from Greenland floes With Seraphita forth? Is she Madonna of the Snows? A sphinx of the icy North, Sphinx buried by avalanche, The glacier's guardian ghost, Whose frozen secrets hide and blanch In her white heart innermost? What magic of what far name Shall this pale soul ignite? Ah! who shall flush with rose's flame This cold, implacable white? COQUETRY IN DEATH I beg ye grant, when low I lie, Before ye close my coffin-bed, A little black beneath mine eye, And on my cheek a touch of red! Ah, make me beautiful as now! For I would be upon my bier, As on the night of his avow Charming and bloomful, gay and dear. For me no linen winding-sheet! But gown me very grand and bright. Bring forth my frock of muslin sweet, With many ruffles soft and white. My favourite frock! I wore it well, Who wore it at love's flowering. And since his look upon it fell, I've kept it as a sacred thing. For me no funeral coronet, No tear-embroidered cushion place; But o 'er my fair lace pillow let My hair droop free about my face. Dear pillow! Often did it mark, In mad, sweet nights our brows unlit, And, all within the gondola dark, Did count our kisses infinite. About my waxen hands supine, Folded in prayer at life's deep gloam, My rosary of opals twine, Blessed by His Holiness at Rome. I'll finger it, when bedded cold Where never one shall rise. How oft His lips upon my lips have told A _Pater_ and an _Ave_ soft! HEART'S DIAMOND Every lover deep hath set In a sacred nook apart Some dear token for the heart In its hope or its regret. One hath nested safe away Blackest ringlet ever seen, Over which an azure sheen Lieth, as on wing of jay. One from shoulder pale as milk Took a tress more golden-fine Than the threads that softly shine In the silk-worm's wonder-silk.