Yes; I know what I am. Have outlasted my season Of pleasure and folly.--You think it is strange That I let you, say--love me? But why not?--my reason Requires illusions. They give me that change Which quiets remembrance. You kiss me--I wonder.-- When you say, "You are beautiful,"--well, am I glad If I laugh?--You declaim on my form, "How no blunder Of nature discords,"--If I sigh, am I sad? V How you stare at my eyes!--Well! my lips!--must they languish For kisses to redden?--"My eyes are as bright As the jewel I drown in my hair, with its anguish Of tortuous fire that quivers to-night"? Tears may be.--This showy?--That silly white flower Were better?--For me its simplicity? no!-- The gem I prefer to the lily.--The hour Has struck: I am ready: my fan: let us go. A GUINEVERE Sullen gold down all the sky; Roses and their sultry musk; Whippoorwills deep in the dusk Yonder sob and sigh.-- You are here; and I could weep, Weep for joy and suffering.... "Where is he"?--He'd have me sing-- There he sits, asleep. Think not of him! he is dead For the moment to us twain-- Hold me in your arms again, Rest on mine your head. "Am I happy?" ask the fire When it bursts its bounds and thrills Some mad hours as it wills If those hours tire. He had gold. As for the rest-- Well you know how _they_ were set, Saying that I must forget And 'twas for the best. _I_ forget?--But let it go!-- Kiss me as you used of old. There; your kisses are not cold! Can you love me so? Knowing what I am to him, To that gouty gray one there, On the wide verandah, where Fitful fireflies swim. Is it tears? or what? that wets Eyes and cheeks;--on brow and lip Kisses! soft as bees that sip Sweets from violets. See! the moon has risen; white As this open lily here, Rocking on the dusky mere, Like a silent light. Let us walk... So soon to part!-- All too soon! But he may miss. Give me but another kiss-- It will heat my heart And the bitter winter there.-- So; we part, my Launcelot, My true knight! and am I not Your true Guinevere? Oft they parted thus, they tell, In that mystical romance... Were they placed, think you, perchance, For such love, in Hell? No! it can not, can not be! Love is God, and God is love: And they live and love above, Guinevere and he. I must go now.--See! there fell, Molten into purple light, One wild star. Kiss me good night, And once more. Farewell. PERLE DES JARDINS What am I, and what is he, Who can take and break a heart, As one might a rose, for sport, In its royalty?