III
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N melancholy moonless Acheron,Farm for the goodly earth and joyous dayWhere no spring ever buds, nor ripening sunWeighs down the apple trees, nor flowery MayChequers with chestnut blooms the grassy floor,Where thrushes never sing, and piping linnets mate no more, There by a dim and dark Lethæan wellYoung Charmides was lying; wearilyHe plucked the blossoms from the asphodel,And with its little rifled treasuryStrewed the dull waters of the dusky stream,And watched the white stars founder, and the land was like a dream, When as he gazed into the watery glassAnd through his brown hair’s curly tangles scannedHis own wan face, a shadow seemed to passAcross the mirror, and a little handStole into his, and warm lips timidlyBrushed his pale cheeks, and breathed their secret forth into a sigh. Then turned he round his weary eyes and saw,And ever nigher still their faces came,And nigher ever did their young mouths drawUntil they seemed one perfect rose of flame,And longing arms around her neck he cast,And felt her throbbing bosom, and his breath came hot and fast, And all his hoarded sweets were hers to kiss,And all her maidenhood was his to slay,And limb to limb in long and rapturous blissTheir passion waxed and waned,—O why essayTo pipe again of love, too venturous reed!Enough, enough that Eros laughed upon that flowerless mead. Too venturous poesy, O why essayTo pipe again of passion! fold thy wingsO’er daring Icarus and bid thy laySleep hidden in the lyre’s silent stringsTill thou hast found the old Castalian rill,Or from the Lesbian waters plucked drowned Sappho’s golden quid! Enough, enough that he whose life had beenA fiery pulse of sin, a splendid shame,Could in the loveless land of Hades gleanOne scorching harvest from those fields of flameWhere passion walks with naked unshod feetAnd is not wounded,—ah! enough that once their lips could meet In that wild throb when all existencesSeemed narrowed to one single ecstasyWhich dies through its own sweetness and the stressOf too much pleasure, ere PersephoneHad bade them serve her by the ebon throneOf the pale God who in the fields of Enna loosed her zone.
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