An Eastern mistress whom her lord doth keep,
Dark-tressed, rose-cheeked, in blissful indolence,
With languorous eyes and low-voiced blandishments
So veils her passion that it seems asleep;
But hid from sight the fountain lieth deep,
Fed to the full by all the rills of sense,
And if unloosed 'twill flood its frail defence,
One stormy moment in a torrent sweep,
Then sink as still as though 't had slept for aye.
Thus with July, the summer's leman-love;
Rose-gardens glow; the green of field and grove
Is swarthy-bright. What hoarded fire the day
Hides 'neath those slumberous clouds! A touch will move
Their calm to rage; a flash! they melt away.