Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GABRIELLE, by THEOPHILE JULIUS HENRY MARZIALS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

GABRIELLE, by                    
First Line: A griffin crouches on an oriel plinth
Last Line: The lady couch'd thereby.
Alternate Author Name(s): Marzials, Theo; Marzials, Theophile Jules Henri
Subject(s): Doves; Grief; Kisses; Love; Sorrow; Sadness


A griffin crouches on an oriel plinth,
And thence, pale blue,
As blue wild-hyacinth,
The curtain slopes the open window thro';
Rose-white below, full-flower'd azaleas
Are set by two and two,
And just above,
Along a rod of brass,
Two fond dove-grey ring-doves, all day make love,
And bill, and preen, and coo.

Here she sat calmly in the evening sun,
And listlessly
The while, some courtier spun
His great arms round and close against her knee;
Or stroked her ivory throat and towering neck
Of cream-rose savoury,
And broad and fresh,
Till red the carmine fleck
Leap'd in her shoulder like a peach's flesh,
'Twas kist so cruelly.

Closely he look'd into her beryl-eyes;
And, broke with love,
By soft words, and hot sighs
Like philtres, through her calmness sought to move;
But she the while, as one with little care,
With courbent fingers strove
To snap the pin
Of rubies, and let bare
The lawn about her boddice, and therein
To fondle-fold her dove.

And pouting in the full curves of her lips,
An agriot red,
With juice-stain'd finger-tips,
She fawn'd and fondled on its creamy head;
And then she stoop'd, and gracile, kiss'd its beak,
Yet never one word said,
The love to ease
Of him too broke to speak,
Who crushed i' the noisy satin at her knees
His face as in a bed.

At length, when like to any scullion-knave,
She bid him go;
He slunk away, a slave
To every look of hers; but with a throe
Of love that knit his brow and clench'd his fist,
And made his brain to glow
Like wine and fire.
Then close her hand he kist,
And went, a-cursing this her hard desire,
Yet fain to please her so.

Once more alone, she rose i' the purple light,
Tall as a queen,
With large and lissom height,
And lovely languors in her comely mien,
"Great love," she said, "works evil like great hate;"
And laid a glass of green,
Blown clear with gold
And blues, athwart a plate
Of rose and opal; and then slowly told
Some oozy drug therein.

Then slurred a cherry through, and, from her breast,
Perked up the head
Of that fond dove caress'd,
Warm on her flesh, in kisses lately fed;
'And on its beak she toy'd as just before,
Dangling the fruit, and said: --
"He loves me so --
Lest he should love me more --"
Then stroked the bird that flutter'd down, and lo!
There at her feet lay dead.

With little heed she placed the phials back,
And closed with care
The casket, ebon-black,
And chased with ivory sibyls; comb in hair,
She stood an instant at the window-bar,
And breath'd the last warm air;
Then shut it close
As rose the evening star
Above the street; and then the pearl and rose
Unbraided from her hair.

And all night long beside her lover-bird,
With plaintive cry,
The sad mate never stirred,
But bill'd his ruffled neck, and like to die,
Heard but her own low grief the echoes keep
To mock her in reply,
And like a charm
To soothe to sweetest sleep,
Her white-rose cheek just dimpling on her arm,
The lady couch'd thereby.





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