Eos: An Epic of the Dawn, and Other Poems

By Nicholas Flood Davin




A Flora’s head; from eyes a shower
    Of starlight over face and figure,
And in the mouth a sense of power,
    And in the step a note of vigour.

Hair, blacker than the murkiest night;
    No pads, no friz—lynx-eyes may scan it;
The forehead, a piece of lunar light,
    Cut by an archway on white granite.

The column’d neck—but I must pause;
    My senses reel—what if I lose ’em!
Old Hogarth’s line—sweet beauty’s laws
    Are folded in that ample bosom.

A form—no angel’s—rather than hers
    Who came with Neptune’s sunny spray lit,
We’d swear, or else my judgement errs,
    If you had wings to fly away with.

We met, once in the busy street,
    And once when dancing ruled the season;
We did not dance—but yet your feet
    Bore me along in spite of reason.

And so I sit to-day and weave
    This little wreath of careless rhyming,
And half I joy, and half I grieve,
    To know my name’s beyond divining. [Page 100]

As one might sing to some sweet star
    Upon the young’s night’s forehead glowing,
I sing to you, so near—so far—
    Hold on your radiant course unknowing. [Page 101]