HERE in this narrow chamber, where one ray Quickens the jewel-coloured walls, I stand Alone, a Queen, to speak to thee, a Queen. I, Cleopatra, lift my face to meet Thy silent face, Hathor, in this thy house, Hither I came through fields of mellow green Where prostrate peasants lifted peering eyes To see the Great Queen's passing; labour fell Stricken to silence at the sight of me. Only the patient saqquias wailed on As round and round the blindfold bullocks trod -- And yet I knew behind me they arose Like trampled grain, and went about their toil, Even as my courtiers when my shadow falls No more upon them, turn them to their sport. That world -- what has that world to do with me? Here in thy temple, here am I at home, For thou and I are one at heart. To thee Hath ever been my longing, though at first I knew it not. Earth was too beautiful -- I could not see beyond -- and all of me That was of earth, cried out for earth's delight. I was athirst for life, and royally I took what I deemed life -- ay, like a Queen I crushed the grapes of mortal joy and drank The wine thereof, and still I was athirst. Again I sought new vintage, and again, While to my fingers clung the lees like blood. Hathor, thou Merciless! I give thee thanks, Through all those drunken days I thirsted still! And yet I was so slow to understand, Nor knew that when on passion's very mouth I trembled and grew cold, it was thy face That came between, slaying the transient joy With thine immortal breath; and so I fled From lover unto lover, till at last I knew that not in man was my desire Nor in the fruit of man. I came to thee, Hathor, at last, as now I come to thee. It is enough that I am beautiful For Beauty's sake -- I ask not that men's eyes Caress my loveliness, nor that a child Should bear it like a banner down the years. Enough for me that I myself have lived And looked upon thy face of mystery, Thou Gladness of the gods. . . . I am content. Have I not proved what earth-bound hearts call joy? Love . . . what is love? Have I not known desire, -- Yea, have I not brought forth a son? And yet My heart was still athirst. Thou knowest, thou, Smiling that still wise smile of thine. Thou too Hast borne a Horus, yet we worship thee Not babe at breast, like Isis, but alone, Mateless, unconquerable, -- there is not one Of all the gods may dare to call thee his, Mistress of whom thou wilt, but slave of none. Therefore, since thou hast shown to me thy way, Free as the desert wind, I lift to thee My hands, and in them, Egypt. Unto thee Will I raise up a temple, fairer far Than even this; to thee will I raise up Myself in perfect beauty, perfect power, My foot upon the weakness of mankind, Spurning it while it lifts me. Men shall see Hathor in Cleopatra, and bow down Smitten to worship that shall know no end, Yea, even Rome! Thou seest . . . and shalt see. . . . A@3ND nearing cloudlike o'er the lower blue, Antony's galley swelled her amber sails@1. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DE LITTLE PICKANINNY'S GONE TO SLEEP by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE GHOST OF DEACON BROWN by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TO TWO UNKNOWN LADIES by AMY LOWELL DOMESDAY BOOK: MRS. GREGORY WENNER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE KINGFISHER by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE DEAD HEROES by ISAAC ROSENBERG MIRANDA'S SUPPER (VIRGINIA, 1866) by ELINOR WYLIE INAUGURATION SONNET: WILLIAM JEWETT TUCKER by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |