"Thy name shall, starlike, pulse and burn
On heights most Godlike; and divine,
Immortal bays thy funereal urn
Shall lastingly entwine!"
He sigh'd; perchance he felt the thrill,
The answ'ring pulse to Fame's high call;
But answer made his steadfast will—
"I will not be thy thrall!"
Again there came the voice and cried:
"Dost thou my kingly bribes disdain?
Yet shalt thou barter soul and pride
For things ignobly vain!
"Two shameless eyes—two false, sweet eyes—
A sinful brow of sinless white,
Shall hurl, thy soul from high clear skies
To ME, and Stygian night.
"Beneath the spell of gilded hair,
Thy palms, like sickly weeds, shall die!
God-strong Resolves, a sensuous air
Shall mock and crucify.
"Go to! my thrall at last thou art!
Ere bud to rounded blossom change;
Thou wilt for wanton lips and heart
Most false, thy soul exchange!"
THE LAND OF KISSES
Where is the Land of Kisses,
Can you tell, tell, tell?
Ah, yes; I know its blisses
Very well!
'Tis not beneath the swinging
Of the Jessamine,
Where gossip-birds sit singing
In the vine!
Where is the Land of Kisses,
Do you know, know, know?
Is it such a land as this is?
No, truly no!
Nor is it 'neath the Myrtle,
Where each butterfly
Can brush your lady's kirtle,
Flitting by!
Where is the Land of Kisses,
Can you say, say, say?
Yes; there a red lip presses
Mine ev'ry day!
But 'tis not where the Pansies
Open purple eyes,
And gossip all their fancies
To the skies!