432 lines
14 KiB
Plaintext
432 lines
14 KiB
Plaintext
1894
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THE SPHINX
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by Oscar Wilde
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In a dim corner of my room
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For longer than my fancy thinks,
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A beautiful and silent Sphinx
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Has watched me through the shifting gloom.
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Inviolate and immobile
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She does not rise, she does not stir
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For silver moons are nought to her,
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And nought to her the suns that reel.
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Red follows grey across the air
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The waves of moonlight ebb and flow
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But with the dawn she does not go
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And in the night-time she is there.
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Dawn follows Dawn, and Nights grow old
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And all the while this curious cat
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Lies crouching on the Chinese mat
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With eyes of satin rimmed with gold.
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Upon the mat she lies and leers,
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And on the tawny throat of her
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Flutters the soft and fur
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Or ripples to her pointed ears.
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Come forth my lovely seneschal,
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So somnolent, so statuesque,
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Come forth you exquisite grotesque,
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Half woman and half animal,
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Come forth my lovely languorous Sphinx,
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And put your head upon my knee
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And let me stroke your throat and see
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Your body spotted like the Lynx,
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And let me touch those curving claws
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Of yellow ivory, and grasp
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The tail that like a monstrous Asp
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Coils round your heavy velvet paws.
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A thousand weary centuries
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Are thine, while I have hardly seen
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Some twenty summers cast their green
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For Autumn's gaudy liveries,
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But you can read the Hieroglyphs
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On the great sandstone obelisks,
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And you have talked with Basilisks
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And you have looked on Hippogriffs
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O tell me, were you standing by
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When Isis to Osiris knelt,
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And did you watch the Egyptian melt
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Her union for Anthony,
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And drink the jewel-drunken wine,
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And bend her head in mimic awe
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To see the huge pro-consul draw
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The salted tunny from the brine?
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And did you mark the Cyprian kiss
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With Adon on his catafalque,
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And did you follow Amanalk
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The god of Heliopolis?
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And did you talk with Thoth, and did
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You hear the moon-horned Io weep
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And know the painted kings who sleep
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Beneath the wedge-shaped Pyramid?
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Lift up your large black satin eyes
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Which are like cushions where one sinks,
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Fawn at my feet, fantastic Sphinx,
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And sing me all your memories.
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Sing to me of the Jewish maid
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Who wandered with the Holy Child,
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And how you led them through the wild,
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And how they slept beneath your shade.
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Sing to me of that odorous
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Green eve when crouching by the marge
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You heard from Adrian's gilded barge
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The laughter of Antinous,
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And lapped the stream, and fed your drouth,
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And watched with hot and hungry stare
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The ivory body of that rare
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Young slave with his pomegranate mouth.
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Sing to me of the Labyrinth
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In which the two-formed bull was stalled,
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Sing to me of the night you crawled
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Across the temple's granite plinth
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When through the purple corridors
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The screaming scarlet Ibis flew
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In terror, and a horrid dew
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Dripped from the moaning Mandragores,
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And the great torpid crocodile
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Within the great shed slimy tears,
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And tore the jewels from his ears
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And staggered back into the Nile,
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And the Priests cursed you with shrill psalms
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As in your claws you seized their snake
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And crept away with it to slake
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Your passion by the shuddering palms.
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Who were your lovers, who were they
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Who wrestled for you in the dust?
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Which was the vessel of your Lust,
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What Leman had you every day?
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Did giant lizards come and crouch
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Before you on the reedy banks?
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Did Gryphons with great metal flanks
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Leap on you in your trampled couch,
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Did monstrous hippopotami
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Come sidling to you in the mist
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Did gilt-scaled dragons write and twist
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With passion as you passed them by?
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And from that brick-built Lycian tomb
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What horrible Chimaera came
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With fearful heads and fearful flame
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To breed new wonders from your womb?
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Or had you shameful secret guests
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And did you harry to your home
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Some Nereid coiled in amber foam
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With curious rock-crystal breasts;
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Or did you, treading through the froth,
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Call to the brown Sidonian
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For tidings of Leviathan,
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Leviathan of Behemoth?
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Or did you when the sun was set,
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Climb up the cactus-covered slope
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To meet your swarthy Ethiop
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Whose body was of polished jet?
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Or did you while the earthen skiffs
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Dropt down the gray Nilotic flats
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At twilight, and the flickering bats
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Flew round the temple's triple glyphs
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Steal to the border of the bar
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And swim across the silent lake
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And slink into the vault and make
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The Pyramid your lupanar,
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Till from each black sarcophagus
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Rose up the painted, swathed dead,
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Or did you lure unto your bed
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The ivory-horned Trageophos?
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Or did you love the God of flies
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Who plagued the Hebrews and was splashed
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With wine unto the waist, or Pasht
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Who had green beryls for her eyes?
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Or that young God, the Tyrian,
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Who was more amorous than the dove
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Of Ashtaroth, or did you love
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The God of the Assyrian,
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Whose wings that like transparent talc
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Rose high above his hawk-faced head
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Painted with silver and with red
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And ribbed with rods of Oreichalch?
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Or did huge Apis from his car
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Leap down and lay before your feet
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Big blossoms of the honey-sweet,
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And honey-coloured nenuphar?
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How subtle secret is your smile;
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Did you love none then? Nay I know
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Great Ammon was your bedfellow,
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He lay with you beside the Nile.
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The river-horses in the slime
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Trumpeted when they saw him come
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Odorous with Syrian galbanum
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And smeared with spikenard and with thyme.
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He came along the river bank
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Like some tall galley argent-sailed
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He strode across the waters, mailed
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In beauty and the waters sank.
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He strode across the desert sand,
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He reached the valley where you lay,
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He waited till the dawn of day,
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Then touched your black breasts with his hand.
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You kissed his mouth with mouth of flame,
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You made the horned-god your own,
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You stood behind him on his throne;
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You called him by his secret name,
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You whispered monstrous oracles
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Into the caverns of his ears,
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With blood of goats and blood of steers
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You taught him monstrous miracles,
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While Ammon was your bedfellow
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Your chamber was the steaming Nile
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And with your curved Archaic smile
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You watched his passion come and go.
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With Syrian oils his brows were bright
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And wide-spread as a tent at noon
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His marble limbs made pale the moon
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And lent the day a larger light,
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His long hair was nine cubits span
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And coloured like that yellow gem
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Which hidden in their garments' hem,
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The merchants bring from Kurdistan.
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His face was as the must that lies
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Upon a vat of new-made wine,
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The seas could not insapphirine
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The perfect azure of his eyes.
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His thick, soft throat was white as milk
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And threaded with thin veins of blue
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And curious pearls like frozen dew
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Were broidered on his flowing silk.
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On pearl and porphyry pedestalled
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He was too bright to look upon
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For on his ivory breast there shone
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The wondrous ocean-emerald,-
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That mystic, moonlight jewel which
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Some diver of the Colchian caves
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Had found beneath the blackening waves
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And carried to the Colchian witch.
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Before his gilded galiot
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Ran naked vine-wreathed corybants
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And lines of swaying elephants
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Knelt down to draw his chariot,
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And lines of swarthy Nubians
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Bore up his litter as he rode
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Down the great granite-paven road,
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Between the nodding peacock fans.
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The merchants brought him steatite
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From Sidon in their painted ships;
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The meanest cup that touched his lips
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Was fashioned from a chrysolite.
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The merchants brought him cedar chests
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Of rich apparel, bound with cords;
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His train was borne by Memphian lords;
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Young kings were glad to be his guests.
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Ten hundred shaven priests did bow
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To Ammon's altar day and night,
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Ten hundred lamps did wave their light
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Through Ammon's carven house,- and now
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Foul snake and speckled adder with
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Their young ones crawl from stone to stone
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For ruined is the house, and prone
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The great rose-marble monolith;
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Wild ass or strolling jackal comes
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And crouches in the mouldering gates,
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Wild satyrs call unto their mates
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Across the fallen fluted drums.
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And on the summit of the pile,
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The blue-faced ape of Horus sits
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And gibbers while the fig-tree splits
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The pillars of the peristyle.
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The God is scattered here and there;
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Deep hidden in the windy sand
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I saw his giant granite hand
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Still clenched in impotent despair.
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And many a wandering caravan
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Of stately negroes, silken-shawled,
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Crossing the desert, halts appalled
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Before the neck that none can span.
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And many a bearded Bedouin
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Draws back his yellow-striped burnous
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To gaze upon the Titan thews
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Of him who was thy paladin.
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Go seek his fragments on the moor,
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And wash them in the evening dew,
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And from their pieces make anew
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Thy mutilated paramour.
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Go seek them where they lie alone
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And from their broken pieces make
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Thy bruised bedfellow! And wake
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Mad passions in the senseless stone!
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Charm his dull ear with Syrian hymns;
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He loved your body; oh be kind!
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Pour spikenard on his hair and wind
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Soft rolls of linen round his limbs;
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Wind round his head the figured coins,
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Stain with red fruits the pallid lips;
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Weave purple for his shrunken hips
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And purple for his barren loins!
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Away to Egypt! Have no fear;
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Only one God has ever died,
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Only one God has let His side
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Be wounded by a soldier's spear.
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But these, thy lovers, are not dead;
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Still by the hundred-cubit gate
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Dog-faced Anubis sits in state
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With lotus lilies for thy head.
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Still from his chair of porphyry
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Giant Memnon strains his lidless eyes
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Across the empty land and cries
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Each yellow morning unto thee.
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And Nilus with his broken horn
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Lies in his black and oozy bed
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And till thy coming will not spread
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His waters on the withering corn.
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Your lovers are not dead, I know,
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And will rise up and hear thy voice
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And clash their symbols and rejoice
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And run to kiss your mouth,- and so
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Set wings upon your argosies!
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Set horses to your ebon car!
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Back to your Nile! Or if you are
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Grown sick of dead divinities;
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Follow some roving lion's spoor
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Across the copper-coloured plain,
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Reach out and hale him by the mane
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And bid him to be your paramour!
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Crouch by his side upon the grass
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And set your white teeth in his throat,
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And when you hear his dying note,
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Lash your long flanks of polished brass
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And take a tiger for your mate,
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Whose amber sides are flecked with black,
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And ride upon his gilded back
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In triumph through the Theban gate,
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And toy with him in amorous jests,
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And when he turns and snarls and gnaws,
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Oh smite him with your jasper claws
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And bruise him with your agate breasts!
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Why are you tarrying? Get hence!
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I weary of your sullen ways.
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I weary of your steadfast gaze,
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Your somnolent magnificence.
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Your horrible and heavy breath
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Makes the light flicker in the lamp,
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And on my brow I feel the damp
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And dreadful dews of night and death,
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Your eyes are like fantastic moons
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That shiver in some stagnant lake,
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Your tongue is like a scarlet snake
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That dances to fantastic tunes.
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Your pulse makes poisonous melodies,
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And your black throat is like the hole
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Left by some torch or burning coal
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On Saracenic tapestries.
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Away! the sulphur-coloured stars
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Are hurrying through the Western gate!
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Away! Or it may be too late
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To climb their silent silver cars!
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See, the dawn shivers round the gray,
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Gilt-dialled towers, and the rain
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Streams down each diamonded pane
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And blurs with tears the wannish day.
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What snake-tressed fury, fresh from Hell,
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With uncouth gestures and unclean,
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Stole from the poppy-drowsy queen
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And led you to a student's cell?
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What songless, tongueless ghost of sin
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Crept through the curtains of the night
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And saw my taper burning bright,
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And knocked and bade you enter in?
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Are there not others more accursed,
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Whiter with leprosies than I?
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Are Abana and Pharphar dry,
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That you come here to slake your thirst?
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False Sphinx! False Sphinx! By reedy Styx,
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Old Charon, leaning on his oar,
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Waits for my coin. Go thou before
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And leave me to my crucifix,
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Whose pallid burden, sick with pain,
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Watches the world with wearied eyes.
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And weeps for every soul that dies,
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And weep for every soul in vain!!.
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THE END
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