Explore "Odelet" by Théophile Gautier on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
AFTER ANACREON
Poet of her face divine, / Curb this over-zeal of thine! / Doves wing frighted from the ground / At a step's too sudden sound, / And her passion is a dove, / Frighted by too bold a love. / Mute as marble Hermes wait / By the blooming hawthorn-gate. / Thou shalt see her wings expand, / She shall flutter to thy hand. / On thy forehead thou shalt know / Something like a breath of snow, / Or of pinions pure that beat / In a whirl of whiteness sweet. / And the dove, grown venturesome, / Shall upon thy shoulder come, / And its rosy beak shall sip / From the nectar of thy lip.