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Poem by Arthur William Symons


White Heliotrope


The feverish room and that white bed,
The tumbled skirts upon a chair,
The novel flung half-open, where
Hat, hair-pins, puffs, and paints are spread;

The mirror that has sucked your face
Into its secret deep of deeps,
And there mysteriously keeps
Forgotten memories of grace;

And you half dressed and half awake,
Your slant eyes strangely watching me,
And I, who watch you drowsily,
With eyes that, having slept not, ache;

This (need one dread? nay, dare one hope?)
Will rise, a ghost of memory, if
Ever again my handkerchief
Is scented with White Heliotrope.



Arthur William Symons


Arthur William Symons's other poems:
  1. In Fountain Court
  2. Behind the Scenes: Empire
  3. Pastel: Masks and Faces
  4. Haschisch
  5. Grey Hours: Naples


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