Laurens Villa by Marie Van Vorst

"There is no happiness! " I cried. / "Hush, hush! " she laughed, lying by my side. / "I think I am too blest! The gods / Will smite me with their jealous rods / Upon thy breast! ". "Sweetheart," (she said,) / "Art not content? " I hid my head / In silence: whilst she laughed; all slow / Saying, -- "Oh, Love, since thou _must_ know! / When Laurens died, thy sword that let / His life out, with his red blood wet / Let in the light to me! ". I turned / And kissed her, till the fires burned / In flame to Eros. And she slept / Until the hushed white morning crept / And with unprisoned sunlight came / To wake with matin sword of flame.

Half sleeping, I essayed to find / Her lips: and with warm hands to bind / Her fast with her bright hair; then watch / The mellowing of the eaves and thatch / Under the morning. She was cold. / I clasped within my trembling hold / Beauty's bright lamp extinguishèd! / Her lily limbs and flower head / Were as the unsunned dawn is cold, / And white as was the pleated heavy fold / Of her close-clinging linen gown. / Her eyelids safely folded down / Over the azure shining thro' / That mocked the heavenly sky, with blue! / The fine red lip-line parted, showing / Her small white teeth; and golden, glowing / The splendid masses of her hair / Wantoned their glory everywhere! / Smiling she lay, her arms thrown wide / As she would clasp on every side / Happiness.! This when morning came / To wake us with its sword of flame!