Paul the Silentiary Poems

Daphnis the piper, trembling 'neath the load
Of years, this crook, his feeble hand no more
Had force to wield, to Pan, the shepherd's god,
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Galatea slammed her door
In my face, and furthermore
Added scorn thereto.
How is it that people say
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How long, how long do ye still mean, mine eyes,
To drain the nectarous draught of Love divine?
Have not ye learned at last to be more wise
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A that in youth had never been
The servant of the Paphian Queen,
I that in youth had never felt
The shafts of Eros pierce and melt,
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A witching smile my Eumenis endears,
But mightier is the magic of her tears.
But yesterday, from some unthought-of cloud,
Came sudden gusts of sobs, her head was bowed
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My name, my country, what are they to thee?
What, whether proud or base my pedigree?
Perhaps I far surpassed all other men;
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These withered rendings of brow-wreathing rose;
These shattered cups, where no more foams and flows
Wine's strength; this tress of myrrh-anointed hair;
Lais, from Anaxagoras' despair
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The hands that dealt death to the Medes
Were hewn off by axes as they rested
On the curved stern of the ship
Which was hastening away,
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The painting does not justly show thy beauty,
And would it had had the power to portray
The sweet tones of thy melodious mouth,
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Who hangs a garland on the rose?
How idle then the 'broidered vest,
And studded fillet on thy brows,
And pearls that fade upon thy breast;
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