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RENAISSANCE
What strange device is this of Fate’s, that thou,
Being such, in such a time, to such an earth
Art born, O damsel of the unruffled brow?
Sure, in a stately age long-past, thy birth
Must have made glad some lordly palace-pile
In some far dreamy city of the South,
Whose languid grace yet lingers in thy smile
And curves the corners of thy pouted mouth,
Sunbeams less shy than ours have kiss’d that cheek
Into its changeful almond-petal bloom,
And play’d their mazy game of hide-and-seek
’Mid those crisp tresses; till a sudden doom
Fasten’d them there, for ever to abide,
To lave thy brow in floods of radiant light,
Or soft adown thy shoulder’s dimpled side
Dance out a dazzling brede of gold and white.
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