Charles deGuire Christoph

From “Reflections”

THE CLEAR line of her profile reminded me of an ancient relief

I saw at the Louvre—some Ceasar’s wife

Tranquil and wise, gazing unregretfully

Across the hysteric ages into old Rome.

Long, long ago, I thought, some great senator

Lay at her feet, and watched the evening light

Stamp her face on the smooth wall; and wondered

At her beauty—and how the shadows of her lashes

Made fine laces on her cheeks, and how her eyes

Caught the sun and burned deeply and evenly.

And he smiled at the amorous curve of her chin and wished

To touch her lips—wine and silk and poesy.

That was, perhaps, in Rome; but I know now

My lady has a leper’s heart; her lips

Are torture, and her eyes reflect such shame

There is no help; and on her cheek there clings

The sad voluptuousness of drunken Time,

Dancing like a cretin in an aimless whirl.

I find no harmony; I had no right to try

To gain such end while all the wise ones sneer.

When years have tired, and turn their meagre faces

Again to the old, there may again be peace

For poets singing; there may again be love.