Aspasia

Again at times appeareth to my thoughtThy semblance, O Aspasia I either flashingAcross my path amid the haunts of menIn other forms; or 'mid deserted fieldsWhen shines the sun or tranquil host of stars,As by the sweetest harmony awoke,Arising in my soul which seems once moreTo yield unto that vision all superb,How much adored, O Heaven I of yore how fullyThe joyaunce and the halo of my life?I never meet the perfume of the gardens,Or of the flowers that cities may display,Without beholding thee as thou appearedstUpon that day, when in thy splendid roomsWhich gave the perfume of the sweetest flowersOf recent Spring, arrayed in robes that boreThe violet's hue, first thine angelic formDid meet my gaze as thou, reclining, layestOn strange, white furs, and deep, voluptuous charmSeemed to be thine, whilst thou, a skilled enchantressOf loving hearts, upon the rosy lipsOf thy fair children many a fervent kissImprintedst, bending down to them thy neckOf snowy beauty, and with lovely handTheir guileless forms, unconscious of thy wile,Clasping unto thy bosom, so desired,Though hidden. To the visions of my soulAnother sky and more entrancing worldAnd radiance as from heaven were revealed.Thus in my heart, though not unarmed, thy powerInfixed the arrow which I wounded bore,Until that day when the revolving earthA second time her yearly course fulfilled.

A ray divine unto my thought appeared,Lady, thy beauty. Similar effectsBeauty and music's harmony produce,Revealing both the mysteries sublimeOf unknown Eden. Thence the loving soul,Though injured in his love, adores the birthOf his fond mind, the amorous ideaThat doth include Olympus in its range,And seems in face, in manner, and in speechLike unto her whom the enchanted loverFancies alone to cherish and admire.Not her, but that sweet image, he doth claspEven in the raptures of a fond embrace,At last his error and the objects changedPerceiving, wrath invades him, and he oftWrongly accuses her he thought he loved.The mind of woman to that lofty heightRarely ascends, and what her charms inspireShe little thinks and seldom understands.So frail a mind can harbour no such thought;In vain doth man, deluded by the lightOf those enthralling eyes, indulge in hope;In vain he asks for deep and hidden thoughts,Transcending mortal ken, of her to whomHath Nature's laws a lesser rank assigned,For as her frame less strength than man's received,So too her mind less energy and depth.?

Nor thou as yet what inspirations vastWithin my thought thy loveliness aroused,Aspasia, could'st conceive. Thou little knowestWhat love unmeasured and what woes intense,What frenzy wild and feelings without name,Thou didst within me move, nor shall the timeAppear when thou canst know it. EquallyThe skilled performer ignorant remainsOf what with hand or voice he doth arouseWithin his hearers. That Aspasia nowIs dead, whom I so worshipped. She lies lowFor evermore, once idol of my life:Unless at times, a cherished shade, she rises,Ere long to vanish. Thou art still alive,Not merely lovely, but of such perfectionThat, as I think, thou dost eclipse the rest.But now the ardour, born of thee, is spent:Because I loved not thee, but that fair goddessWho had her dwelling in me, now her grave.Her long I worshipped, and so was I pleasedBy her celestial loveliness, that I,Even from the first full conscious and awareOf what thou art, so wily and so false,Beholding in thine eyes the light of hers,Fondly pursued thee while she lived in me;Not dazzled or deluded; but inducedBy the enjoyment of that sweet resemblance,A long and bitter slavery to bear.

Now boast, for well thou may'st; say that aloneOf all thy sex art thou to whom I bentMy haughty head, to whom I gladly gaveMy heart in homage. Say that thou wert firstAnd last, I truly hope, to see mine eyes'Imploring gaze, and me before thee standTimid and fearful (as I write, I burnWith wrath and shame); me of myself deprived,Each look of thine, each gesture and each wordObserving meekly; at thy haughty freaksPale and subdued; then radiant with delightAt any sign of favour; changing hueAt every glance of thine. The charm is gone;And with it shattered, falls the heavy yoke,Whence I rejoice. Though weariness be with me,Yet after such delirium and long thraldom,Gladly my freedom I again embrace,And my unshackled mind. For if a lifeVoid of affections and of errors sweet,Be like a starless night in winter's depth,Revenge sufficient and sufficient balmIt is to me that here upon the grassLeisurely lying and unmoved, I gazeOn sky, earth, ocean, and serenely smile.