Master Laurent Coster, with poetry in his heart, Left his companions who, from morn to night, Born vintners, made the boards of the wine-press start— And Coster dreaming followed his fancy's flight. For he loved the demon Aspasia with all his soul. Sometimes he'd sit upon his bench at church And see in the fumes above the incense bowl The Woman of Hell who was his only search. Or else alone at the brink of a mossy well, Clasping the hands no labor could impel, He'd hark forever to her siren song. ... And I, as well, can neither work nor pray; I am like Coster, a laborer astray Through looking in your dark eyes overlong. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUSSEX DRINKING SONG by HILAIRE BELLOC PORTRAIT OF A BABY by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET CONTRA MORTEM: THE WOMAN by HAYDEN CARRUTH IF IT WERE NOT FOR YOU by HAYDEN CARRUTH O DREAMS, O DESTINATIONS by CECIL DAY LEWIS IN EQUAL SACRIFICE by ROBERT FROST |