Page:Wine and Roses (IA wineroses00dale).pdf/134

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The story-teller from the Isles
Upon the Empire's rim,
With smiles she welcomes—and her smiles
Are death to him.

For Her, whose pleasure is her law,
In vain the shy heart bleeds—
The Genius with the Iron Jaw
Alone succeeds.

And when the Poet's lays grow bland,
And urbanised, and prim—
She stretches forth a jewelled hand
And strangles him.

·····

She sits beside the ship-choked Thames
With Sphinx-like lips apart—
Mistress of many diadems—
Death in her heart!

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