Classic and Contemporary Poetry
STONE APPLES, by JAMES RYDER RANDALL Poet's Biography First Line: Mid the shimmer of lamps and the redowa's dash Last Line: "mid the masquerade of flutes!" Subject(s): Love - Complaints; Nature | ||||||||
'MID the shimmer of lamps and the redowa's dash, Where the trumpet the thick-tongued song salutes 'Mid the flutter of gauze and the diamond's flash, 'Mid the masquerade of flutes! The boreal wind outside was keen, And the heavens had frosty eyes that night; Within was the realm of a tropic queen, Auroral with delight. Amiddle the foam of the frescoed ships On the pictured walls were the genii grim; And the languid lotus, with chaliced lips, Was nectared to the brim. Here bevies of blondes with hyacinth hair, Flirt their silver arms 'mid the fervid dance; And the dusk-eyed brunette wreathes her snare Through the sensuous advance. The vivid, voluptuous waltz is done, But the beaux are busy as they can be; The buzzing butterflies round the sun Of a dazzling coterie. But I, in the wavering whirl of mirth Cast gloom and glamor far and wide; To me 'twas the emptiness of earth The feast of the Barmecide. And there in a niche by the colonnade, Alone with the crisp and biting breeze, I counted the curves by the river made, And the grenadier-like trees. And I vow that the cold and dark to me Were better than melody, wit, and wine; For I saw, what never on earth should be, Under the chill moonshine, I saw by the sinuous river side A willowy cottage, neat and white, Where the bayou ripples prank and glide To the clover aleft and right. And a damsel, shaming the damsels here, With naught of their satin and silk and pearls, Shein a modest, maidenly sphere, Theylike the geisha girls! Oh, how I worshiped you then and there, The Mother of God alone can tell With the bandeau dimming your starry hair, And your hand in mine, Estelle! Lo! the boreal wind blew warm and soft, And the heavens had gentle eyes for all I looked, with a gallant smile, aloft, And my spirit had no gall. My steps were turned to the ball again, With an arching front and a springy tread "Oh, she is an angel to this train; She is better than any," I said. And better is she, sweet child, away In that willowy cottage, neat and white; For she is the darlingest bird of day, But these are the birds of night. The dear God nestles her eyes in sleep, And her visions are beautiful and serene; The dawn has nothing for her to weep, With a flushed, disheveled mien. And I swear, as I murmured things like these, And even the revelry seemed but good, I saw, 'mid its giddiest ecstasies, My Violet of the Wood. Not in the garb of the olden days, But tricked with a tinselry of toys And she frowned as she met my eager gaze, And she smiled o'er the foppish joys. And she, high and haughtily, brushed me by, To harvest the spoils of her fevered bliss To drink in the honeyed laugh and lie, The honeyed serpent's hiss. Yes! the boreal wind cut keen and bleak, And the heavens had frosty eyes once more; For the apples I plucked from the Venus-cheek Were petrified to the core! And I sighed to my heart: "My love is rash, Since these are the false and blasting fruits; I thrust it back 'mid the diamond's flash, 'Mid the masquerade of flutes!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INTERRUPTED MEDITATION by ROBERT HASS TWO VIEWS OF BUSON by ROBERT HASS THE FATALIST: HOME by LYN HEJINIAN WRITING IS AN AID TO MEMORY: 17 by LYN HEJINIAN LET US GATHER IN A FLOURISHING WAY by JUAN FELIPE HERRERA IN MICHAEL ROBINS?ÇÖS CLASS MINUS ONE by HICOK. BOB BREADTH. CIRCLE. DESERT. MONARCH. MONTH. WISDOM by JOHN HOLLANDER VARIATIONS: 16 by CONRAD AIKEN UNHOLY SONNET 13 by MARK JARMAN JOHN PELHAM by JAMES RYDER RANDALL |
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