PEACH trees and Judas trees, <br />Poppies and roses, <br />Purple anemones <br />In garden closes! <br />Lost in the limpid sky, <br />Shrills a gay lark on high; <br />Lost in the covert's hush, <br />Gurgles a wooing thrush. <br /> <br />Look, where the ivy weaves, <br />Closely embracing, <br />Tendrils of clinging leaves <br />Round him enlacing, <br />With Nature's sacredness <br />Clothing the nakedness, <br />Clothing the marble of <br />This poor, dismembered love. <br /> <br />Gone are the hands whose skill <br />Aimed the light arrow, <br />Strong once to cure or kill, <br />Pierce to the marrow; <br />Gone are the lips whose kiss <br />Held hives of honeyed bliss; <br />Gone too the little feet, <br />Overfond, overfleet. <br /> <br />O helpless god of old, <br />Maimed mid the tender <br />Blossoming white and gold <br />Of April splendour! <br />Shall we not make thy grave <br />Where the long grasses wave; <br />Hide thee, O headless god, <br />Deep in the daisied sod? <br /> <br />Here thou mayst rest at last <br />After life's fever; <br />After love's fret is past <br />Rest thee for ever. <br />Nay, broken God of Love, <br />Still must thou bide above <br />While, left for woe or weal, <br />Thou has a heart to feel. <br />Villa Mattei.<br /><br />Mathilde Blind<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-a-torso-of-cupid/
