Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
By Frederic Manning
THOU art wine, Simaetha! When mine eyes drink thee
My blood flames, with the golden joy thou art
Bewildering me, until thy loveliness
Is veiled in its own light; nor know I then
Pure brows, and placid lips and eyes, and hair        5
With wind and sunlight glorious: but all
Are mingled in one flame. Oh thou in me
Art shrined, as none hath seen thee, as gods live
Whom Time shall not consume; nor rusts thy gold
Ever, so hath my soul enclosed thee round        10
With its divine air. Yea, thy very life,
Which flows through all the guises of thy moods,
Escaping as they die, and laughs and weeps
And builds again its beauty, have I set
Beyond the jeopards of rough time: yea, all        15
Thine ivory, imperilled loveliness,
And winey sanguine, where the cheek’s curve takes
Light as a bloom upon it, not to pass,
So there be God.
                Thy praise hath made speech song:
And song from lip to lip flies, and black ships        20
Bear it from sea to sea; and on some quay
Where rise tall masts, and gay booths flank the ways
A tumbler sings it; and an alien air
Trembles with thee, while strange men wonder, dumb,
To see thee pass: thou being all my song.        25

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