Where fair Ææia smiles across the sea
To olive-crowned Italia, th’ enchantress dwells —
A woman set about with dreams and spells,
Weird incantations, charms and mystery.
Most strangely pale and strangely fair is she —
Yet deadlier than the hemlock draught her smile,
Darker than Stygian glooms her subtle guile....
Drawn by her deep eyes’ spell, across the sea
The Argive galleys wing, till beached they lie
Upon the fatal strand. The Greeks beguile
The hasting hours with revelry and wine
Within her halls.... Eftsoon strange sorcery
The Circe weaves. They who were men erewhile
Now grovel at her feet, transformed to swine.
‘ Neath myriad mellow tapers’ golden glow
A woman stands, proud, insolent and fair;
A single gem meshed in the dusk-dyed hair
Burns like the evening star descending low
Adown the dark'ning sky. Upon the snow
Of her full-blossomed breast deep rubies lie.
Her fragrant presence breathes sweet sorcery;
The shimmering saffron satin's flexile flow
Outlines each sinuous curve; a sensuous smile,
A touch that fires to flame each pulsant vein —
One draught of eyes more deep than depths of wine
The senses steal, the soul and brain beguile
Till all seem merged in feeling... and again
A Circe's spells transform men into swine.