What care I for the tempest? What care I for the rain? If it beat upon my bosom, would it cool its burning pain-- This pain that ne'er has left me since on his heart I lay, And sobbed my grief at parting as I'd sob my soul away? O Antony! Antony! Antony! when in thy circling arms Shall I sacrifice to Eros my glorious woman's charms, And burn life's sweetest incense before his sacred shrine With the living fire that flashes from thine eyes into mine? O when shall I feel thy kisses rain down upon my face, As, a queen of love and beauty, I lie in thine embrace, Melting--melting--melting, as a woman only can When she's a willing captive in the conquering arms of man, As he towers a god above her, and to yield is not defeat, For love can own no victor if love with love shall meet? I still have regal splendor, I still have queenly power, And--more than all--unfaded is woman's glorious dower. But what care I for pleasure? what's beauty to me now, Since Love no longer places his crown upon my brow? I have tasted its elixir, its fire has through me flashed, But when the wine glowed brightest from my eager lip 'twas dashed. And I would give all Egypt but once to feel the bliss Which thrills through all my being whene'er I meet his kiss. The tempest wildly rages, my hair is wet with rain, But it does not still my longing, or cool my burning pain. For Nature's storms are nothing to the raging of my soul When it burns with jealous frenzy beyond a queen's control. I fear not pale Octavia--that haughty Roman dame-- My lion of the desert--my Antony can tame. I fear no Persian beauty, I fear no Grecian maid: The world holds not the woman of whom I am afraid. But I'm jealous of the rapture I tasted in his kiss, And I would not that another should share with me that bliss. No joy would I deny him, let him cull it where he will, So, mistress of his bosom is Cleopatra still; So that he feels for ever, when he Love's nectar sips, 'Twas sweeter--sweeter--sweeter when tasted on my lips; So that all other kisses, since he has drawn in mine, Shall be unto my loved as "water after wine." Awhile let Cæsar fancy Octavia's pallid charms Can hold Rome's proudest consul a captive in her arms. Her cold embrace but brightens the memory of mine, And for my warm caresses he in her arms shall pine. 'Twas not for love he sought her, but for her princely dower; She brought him Cæsar's friendship, she brought him kingly power. I should have bid him take her, had he my counsel sought. I've but to smile upon him, and all her charms are nought; For I would scorn to hold him by but a single hair, Save his own longing for me when I'm no longer there; And I will show you, Roman, that for one kiss from me Wife--fame--and even honor to him shall nothing be!