| |
| DARK tresses made rich with all treasures, | |
| Earth’s gold-dust, and pearls of the sea,— | |
| She is splendid as Rome that was Caesar’s, | |
| And cruel as Rome that was free! | |
| |
| Could I paint her but once as I found her, | 5 |
| From her porphyry couch let her lean, | |
| With the reek of the circus around her— | |
| Who is centre and soul of the scene; | |
| |
| Grey eyes that glance keen as the eagle | |
| When he swoops to his prey from on high; | 10 |
| Bold arms by the red gold made regal— | |
| White breast never vexed with a sigh; | |
| |
| And haughty her mien as of any | |
| Her sires whom the foemen knew well, | |
| As they rode through the grey mist at Cannae, | 15 |
| Ere consul with consular fell. | |
| |
| Unabashed in her beauty of figure— | |
| Heavy limbs and thick tresses uncurled | |
| To our gaze, give the grace and the vigour | |
| Of the race that has conquered the world. | 20 |
| |
| And fierce with the blood of the heroes— | |
| In their sins and their virtues sublime— | |
| Sits the Queen of the world that is Nero’s, | |
| And as keen for a kiss or a crime! | |
| |
| But the game that amuses her leisure | 25 |
| Loses zest as the weaker gives way; | |
| And the victor looks up for her pleasure— | |
| Shall he spare with the sword-point or slay? | |
| |
| Half-grieving she gathers her tresses, | |
| Now the hour for the game has gone by; | 30 |
| And those soft arms, so sweet for caresses, | |
| Point prone as she signs, ‘Let him die.’ | |
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