The Secret Splendour

The Slave*

Naked and hungry, abject, pale with fright,

A slave—behold my ageing, tortured clay—

 Free once I revelled through the foam-fresh day

Of honeyed Hybla with her dim blue height.

I left the happy isle!.... If ever you rove

Towards the bee-music and the wine-delight

Of Syracuse, following he swan's spring-flight,

O friend, remember the fair soul I love.

When shall I see again he welcoming glow

In pure Clearista's gaze of mauve sky-trance

Beneath her dark eye-brow's victorious bow?

Fly, seek her, voice my longing—you shall know

Her by the lonesome question in her glance,

Love's dream-eternity of fathomless woe.

31.7.32

* After the French L'Esclave of Jose-Maria tiereclia.

Page 420