TALL SALMACIS

WERE an apple tree a pine, Tall and slim, and softly swaying, Then her beauty were like thine, Salmacis, when boune a Maying, Tall as any poplar tree, Sweet as apple blossoms be!

Had the Amazonian Queen Seen thee ’midst thy maiden peers, Thou the Coronel hadst been Of that lady’s Grenadiers; Troy had never mourned her fall, With thine axe to guard her wall.

As Penthesilea brave Is the maiden (in her dreams); Ilium she well might save, Though Achilles’ armour gleams, ’Midst the Greeks; all vain it is, ’Gainst the glance of Salmacis!