By D. G. ROSSETTI

Lady of the golden hair and splendid robe
Of perfectly wrought pattern gold and white —
Thou on whose large throat one large mystic globe

Lies, see, of crystal — didst thou ever receive
Flesh of our flesh to breathe here? did the light
Ever indeed break from those eyes and leave

Heaven lightless? or did those splendid, red, curled lips
Ever break silence? Mistress of passion and love,
Mistress of passion and life, ah! and of death that sips

From love's very lips our souls — see those red beads
Strung round to play with, see how they shift and move
With thy toying — even so — as the souls thy beauty leads

Helpless about thee — leaves at thy mere caprice,
Leaves for thy fan's turn just to winnow and sift. —
O God, O God, what hast thou done with peace

For one who hath gazed even once on her, felt her kiss,
Felt her bared, glorious bosom fall and lift
With its passion of kisses? Felt? — nay, or dreamed like this,

Dreamed that he's seen her, touched her, held her, clung
Till his body and soul were one with her, passed away
Out of mind, out of sense, through a passion of nerves unstrung

Out into her infinite glory? — O God, it is gone
The vision, the vision! I am here once more with the day,
Face to-day's pitiless face, with my life alone! —