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.