WITH rosy palms against her bosom pressed To stay the shudder that she dreads of old, Lysidice glides down, till silver-cold The water girdles half her glowing breast; A yellow butterfly on flowery quest Rifles the roses that her tresses hold: A breeze comes wandering through the fold on fold Of draperies curtaining her shrine of rest. Soft beauty, like her kindred petals strewed Along the crystal coolness, there she lies. What vision gratifies those gentle eyes? She dreams she stands where yesterday she stood, Where, while the whole arena shrieks for blood, Hot in the sand a gladiator dies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MAN TO BE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE COLORED BAND by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR BIFTEK AUX CHAMPIGNONS by HENRY AUGUSTIN BEERS A REPLY TO AN IMITATION OF THE SECOND ODE OF HORACE by RICHARD BENTLEY FRIENDSHIP by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER AVELINGLAS by GORDON BOTTOMLEY EPITAPH ON A HENPECKED SQUIRE by ROBERT BURNS AN ADIEU by FLORENCE EARLE COATES THE TWO ROUND SPACES ON THE TOMB-STONE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |