Reach down the lute, and play me A melancholy tune, To rhyme with the dream that has vanished, And the slumbering afternoon. There, drowsing in golden sunlight, The lotus lolls on the water, And opens its heart of gold, Those feathery palms to wave, Ah, me! this lifeless nature Take rather his buckler and sword, Hark to my Indian beauty My cockatoo, creamy white, With roses under his feathers That flashes across the light! And shrieks as he madly swings! Oh, cockatoo, shriek for Antony! There-leave me, and take from my chamber With its bright black eyes so meaningless, Take him, my nerves he vexes The thing without blood or brain,— Or, by the body of Isis, I'll snap his thin neck in twain! Leave me to gaze at the landscape When the afternoon's opaline tremors O'er the mountains quivering play; Till the fierce splendor of sunset Pours from the west its fire, And melted, as in a crucible, Their earthly forms expire; And the bald blear skull of the desert With glowing mountains is crowned, I will lie and dream of the past-time, And through the jungle of memory When, a smooth and velvety tiger, Supple and cushion-footed I wandered, where never the track Of a human creature had rustled I sucked in the noontide splendor, As the shadows of night came on And unsheathed from my cushioned feet My curving claws, and stretched me, And struck at each other our massive arms How powerful he was and grand! His yellow eyes flashed fiercely As he crouched and gazed at me, With a wild triumphant cry, And his teeth in the swelling folds of my neck At times, in our play, drew blood. Often another suitor For I was flexile and fair- Till his blood was drained by the desert; To breathe him a vast half-hour. We drank their blood and crushed them, That was a life to live for! Not this weak human life, With its frivolous bloodless passions, Come to my arms, my hero! The shadows of twilight grow, And the tiger's ancient fierceness veins begins to flow. In my Come not cringing to sue me! Take me with triumph and power, Come, as you came in the desert, Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, With breathings almost heard. The silence, awful, sweet, and calm, So thin, so soft, so sweet, they glide, So near to press they seem, Thy lull us gently to our rest, They melt into our dream. |