Phèdre

Her gesture is the soaring of a hymn, Her voice has robbed the spoil of Hybla’s bees; And like the frozen music of a frieze, Calm, as she moves majestic, every limb. Clear as a crystal beaker’s sounding rim, Her heart gives voice to sobbing melodies, And her frame trembles, swept by passion’s breeze, And sultry clouds her blazing eyes bedim.

A faery caught in her own fatal snare, A wounded eagle struggling to be free, Whose Kingdom was the snow and the sun’s flame More queenly than all empresses is she, Discrowned albeit, defeated and in despair; The stricken lily puts the rose to shame.