Ephemera (Buck)/The Epicure

by Mitchell Starrett Buck

THE EPICURE

Go, thou of the golden hair, and bathe thyself in perfumed waters; rub thy body with wine and fragrant oils so thy suppled skin may glow and glide, softer than silk beneath my touch.

Loose thou thine hair above the smoking incense that, being pregnant with the divine fragrance, it may delight me as it falls about my face, over my lips.

Then lay upon thy slender nudity this tunic, these silken scarves and, over all, this purple vestment broidered with fine gold.

When thou hast done these things—return. If thou art smiling, warm with desire: if I find thee fair: perhaps thou wilt be loved.