BALLADE OF DEAD FAVOURITES

IN Egypt where the strange kings lie The queens of love are queens no more; Old Rome has seen white Eros die; Bright Eros wings from Hellas’ shore. Lutetias’s amorists deplore Her siren voices spent and dumb; By Thames the light ones’ reign is o’er— To what complexion have they come? Salome’s dance is ended night, With all the witcheries she bore; Faustina’s laugh gives no reply To Christian’s wail or lion’s roar. Aspasia with charms ten score, Phryne with sins a countless sum, Poor specks of dust ’neath heaven’s floor— To what complexion have they come? Naught can Du Barry’s kisses buy. The golden-lilied Pompadour Can shake no kingdom with a sigh, For all the vows her lovers swore. These ate kings’ bread in days of yore; To-day they crave not bite nor crumb, With frolic Nell and Mistress Shore— To what complexion have they come?

LADIES, of frail degree and high, When Mors turns down a callous thumb, Sans charm, sans bloom, sans lustrous eye— To this complexion must ye come.