THREE SONNETS TO BEATRICE
I
And didst thou never plan to hold his gaze
With girlish tricks—a loosened braid let slip
The netted coif—or wistful curve of lip—
Or flower-glimpse of half averted face?
Didst never wonder if the clinging grace
Of silks became thee better than the stiff
Brocades peacock or primrose colored? If
Sheer lawn faint-patterned as the silver haze
Above the meadow daisies hid too much
That tender hollow of thy throat where lay
The rosary's nacred spheres like beaded cream
On milk—and didst thou never feel a touch
Of anger when his glances dared not stray
To cheek or mouth he only kissed in dream?
With girlish tricks—a loosened braid let slip
The netted coif—or wistful curve of lip—
Or flower-glimpse of half averted face?
Didst never wonder if the clinging grace
Of silks became thee better than the stiff
Brocades peacock or primrose colored? If
Sheer lawn faint-patterned as the silver haze
Above the meadow daisies hid too much
That tender hollow of thy throat where lay
The rosary's nacred spheres like beaded cream
On milk—and didst thou never feel a touch
Of anger when his glances dared not stray
To cheek or mouth he only kissed in dream?
II
And didst thou never rise from midnight sleep
Ere thou wert wedded to Simone—steal
Barefoot across the chamber floor, and feel
Chill petals of the moonlight drifting deep
Between thy breasts' warm curves? Didst never sweep
The curtain folds aside to gaze into
The stillness of the night whose limpid blue
Even as a wall of sapphire did thee keep
From him who still wrought at his lovely rhymes
Of thee and of the happy maids who were
Thy comrades, by the slowly failing lamp
Less glowing than his heart—and were there times
When they who wakened thee at dawn would fear
Flushed, tear-stained cheeks and maiden pillow damp?
Ere thou wert wedded to Simone—steal
Barefoot across the chamber floor, and feel
Chill petals of the moonlight drifting deep
Between thy breasts' warm curves? Didst never sweep
The curtain folds aside to gaze into
The stillness of the night whose limpid blue
Even as a wall of sapphire did thee keep
From him who still wrought at his lovely rhymes
Of thee and of the happy maids who were
Thy comrades, by the slowly failing lamp
Less glowing than his heart—and were there times
When they who wakened thee at dawn would fear
Flushed, tear-stained cheeks and maiden pillow damp?
III
And didst thou never feel a secret fear
Lest one of thy girl friends—as Vanna blithe
So sumptuous of bosom and so lithe
Of limb, with that broad glory of her hair
And winsome face, the quick smile woven there
With pout or frown—such luscious mingling shows
The inner petalled sweetness of a rose—
Might more loveworthy in his eyes appear
Than thy pure fragile beauty scarce of earth,
The wide Madonna-brows, the locks' pale fall?
—Thy poet knew a jewel; he decrees
More than the diamond or opal's worth
The pearl whose trembling iris-lights recall
The wonder and the terror of the seas.
Lest one of thy girl friends—as Vanna blithe
So sumptuous of bosom and so lithe
Of limb, with that broad glory of her hair
And winsome face, the quick smile woven there
With pout or frown—such luscious mingling shows
The inner petalled sweetness of a rose—
Might more loveworthy in his eyes appear
Than thy pure fragile beauty scarce of earth,
The wide Madonna-brows, the locks' pale fall?
—Thy poet knew a jewel; he decrees
More than the diamond or opal's worth
The pearl whose trembling iris-lights recall
The wonder and the terror of the seas.