Ephemera (Buck)/Circe
CIRCE
Bathed in the flooding moonlight, thy golden palace gleams amidst the whispering pines and cypress trees. From the wide open doors, the road winds like a pale ribbon across the fields to the dark line of the shore.
Within thy palace, lamps are burning, harps and citherns whisper and sigh of love; and the laughter of thy guests, the clashing of cups and dishes, echo among the trees.
But thou—thou standest alone, high on the terrace. The moonlight covers thee like a misty veil through which thy jewels flash like living eyes.
How beautiful, how darkly, deadly beautiful thou art! How black thine unbound hair, how deep thine eyes! How like a spirit of the night as thou standest, with arms outstretched, murmuring strange words above the smoking incense, while the hoarse croakings of the frogs, the shrieks of flitting bats, resound like sweetest music in thine ears!