She lying on her couch alone,
Across the purpled coverlet,
The maiden's jet-black hair has grown,
On either side her tranced form
Forth streaming from a braid of pearl:
The slumbrous light is rich and warm,
And moves not on the rounded curl.
The silk star-broider'd coverlid
Unto her limbs itself doth mould
Languidly ever; and, amid
Her full black ringlets downward roll'd,
Glows forth each softly-shadow'd arm,
With bracelets of the diamond bright:
Her constant beauty doth inform
Stillness with love, and day with light.
She sleeps: her breathings are not heard
In palace chambers far apart.
The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd
That lie upon her charmed heart.
She sleeps: on either hand upswells
The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest:
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells
A perfect form in perfect rest.
Another Fairy Tale poem, boy am I a sucker for the old-fashioned stuff! The way it rolls off the tongue, its beautiful (apparent) simplicity. And of course as a fairy tale cover, it will be a lovely addition to my Fairy Tale portal.
A.J. Ponder
I miss the sheer love and richness of language in this era of poetry--something I feel is a 'loss' in terms of more recent trends.
ReplyDeleteBut how lovely to arrive to check out your poem, and see the cover of my own book, "Thornspell." :)
I agree, rich and gorgeous, vs simple austerity - to laud one and not the other is all about style and not substance ;)
ReplyDeleteAnd the book? - it was literally the first thing to jump into my head as I read the poem.