Lays of Middle Age And Other Poems

; Ruby thy lips to smile at flatteries; And row thy mouth with pearls of native breed. Thou walk'st as under burdens. Who so light In the old century, when thy nimble feet Leapt to untiring violins, in the fleet And boisterous country-dance? Oh age's spite! Dost frown upon the joys 'twas thine to share? Thou art grave now; yet, at Medean touch Of fancy, I can see thee young and fair, In jewell'd splendour mocking age's crutch, And whirling in the mazes of the night. What rivals once had barter'd half their gams And all their sleep for thy conceded kiss! Do those old lips their low-breathed ardours miss, And fondly mumble still of love and chains? I pulp them back to rosebud poutings, bland And beautiful in maidhood, and I own The charms that put a price upon the hand Thou gav'st, in pity of his constant moan, To him, now old, who laughs at love-sick swains! VIII. THE INNER LIFE. From tender thinkings to the eye's fine lid A dew comes sweetly. Unforgotten sights, Escapes of travel, chance-spent glorious nights With those whose memory like a pyramid Is broadly based and higher than all mists, Our daily lot of fortune or of wrong, We tell in fearless prose though the world lists. But all have secrets which, like griefs in song, Disguised are utter'd or kept always hid. Some early cross or long-repented sin Cowers in the heart, of daylight eyes afraid; Some life-aim miss'd, or failure bitter made By j...