The Winged Beetle

87 BATHYLLUS ENOUGH of the frail aspergillus ! Enough of the censer of bronze ! Thy beauty, thy boy, thy Bathyllus, Whose body is soft as a swan’s, Splendid and sinewy slim, Cleanly and supple of limb, Waits for the hush of the hymn. O gather me up in the vigour Of virile embraces, and bear My youth to the rush and the rigour Of marvellous mountainous air ! Pass through the cool colonnades ! Up through the gloom of the glades ! Up ! we are done with the shades. My head is an ocean in anger With sleek and fantastical curls ; My lips like a sunset for languor, My skin like a moonrise of pearls. Ah ! but like stars in the deep Deep of the night, and asleep, Are the eyes that await thee, and weep.