Classic Poem

I.

The wan moon silvers with pale, sullen sheen
A rose-wreathed arbor near the sleepy Rhine,
Which, like a wounded snake of Damascene,
Trails its dull length through leagues of hops and vine.

A woman with cold, loveless eyes stands there,
Spurning, as would the shadows of the shores,
A gentle boy, with blonde and wind-loved hair,
Who at her haughty feet his soul outpours.

She turns her head a cold smile to conceal,
No pity curves her perfect lips to grace —
Ah, God! — I hear the ominous click of steel —
His blood is hot upon her hateful face.

II.

A bizarre throng of masks shouts loud and long;
Great rockets seek the stars in fiery foam,
While quip and jest and laughter, kiss and song,
Hail the first scintillant carnival of Rome.

A woman with superb, love-lustred eyes,
Alert with passions, negligent of fear,
Whispers in low, soft tones, without disguise,
" To-morrow night fail not, sweet cavalier. "

A dark-garbed form darts quickly from the shade;
Unwarned and rapid falls a mortal blow.
A pale man clutches a sharp, reeking blade;
Red drops ooze slowly from her bosom's snow.