Astarte

ACROSS the dripping ridges,
  O, look, luxurious night!
  She comes, the bright-haired beauty,
  My luminous delight!
  My luminous delight!
  So hush, ye shores, your roar,
That my soul may sleep, forgetting
  Dead Love’s wild Nevermore!
  Astarte, Syrian sister,
  Your face is wet with tears;
  I think you know the secret
  One heart hath held for years!
  One heart hath held for years!
  But hide your hapless love,
And my sweet—my Syrian sister,
  Dead Love’s wild Nevermore!

  Ah, Helen Hope in heaven,
  My queen of long ago,
  I’ve swooned with adoration,
  But could not tell you so,
  Or dared not tell you so,
  My radiant queen of yore!
And you’ve passed away and left me
  Dead Love’s wild Nevermore!

  Astarte knoweth, darling,
  Of eyes that once did weep,
  What time entranced Passion
  Hath kissed your lips in sleep;
  Hath kissed your lips in sleep;
  But now those tears are o’er,
Gone, my saint, with many a moan to
  Dead Love’s wild Nevermore!

  If I am past all crying,
  What thoughts are maddening me,
  Of you, my darling, dying
  Upon the lone, wide sea,
  Upon the lone, wide sea,
  Ah! hush, ye shores, your roar,
That my soul may sleep, forgetting
  Dead Love’s wild Nevermore!

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Henry Kendall

Thomas Henry Kendall was a nineteenth-century Australian author and bush poet, who was particularly known for his poems and tales set in a natural environment setting. more…

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"Astarte" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 8 Dec. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/17440/astarte>.

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