A Song of Circe
by Gordon BottomleyThin flakes of light drop through
The trees yet wet with dew,
And flicker in the grass
Whereo'er I pass
To reach the wood's mid deep
Ere day theredown shall creep;
Strange secret weeds to win
That bloom therein;Where every moon uncloses
Bloodless envenomed roses
For my dread anodyne,
My pallid wine.For lovers evermore
My white-armed maidens pour
Dull languid draughts that soothe
Mad age, mad youth:Draining the oft-lipped chalice,
They find love cold as malice
And malice dead as love;
Despair they proveMid musky colonnades
And twilit garden-glades,
Where dim lights come and go
And winds ne'er blow.