Ideal Love

No, never can these frail ephemeral creatures, The withered offspring of a worthless age, These buskined limbs, these false and painted features, The hunger of a heart like mine assuage.

Leave to the laureate of sickly posies Gavami's hospital sylphs, a simpering choir! Vainly I seek among those pallid roses One blossom that allures my red desire.

Thou with my soul's abysmal dreams be blended, Lady Macbeth, in crime superb and splendid, A dream of Æschylus flowered in cold eclipse

Of Northern suns! Thou, Night, inspire my passion, Calm child of Angelo, coiling in strange fashion Thy large limbs moulded for a Titan's lips! L'IDÉAL.