Philosophy of morning

Slave

"Ay, he is fair, yet not indeed so fairAs thou transfigurest himIn thine own eyes, clear as the morning air.

"Ay, he is strong and lithe, yet not in truthAs thou rememberest him,'Tis the intoxication of thy youth!

"Mistress of mine, for once let truth be told,These lovers are less lovely than they seem,'Tis love, who subtly turns their brass to goldWith the alluring magic of a dream."

Princess

"Thy chatter, girl, is like a nest of jays!Disturb me not with jangling coffee trays!Reclose the lattice and shut out the lightI have no haste to end the peace of night.

Slave

So it be not too brief!" "'Tis ever so!And still the young waste in Love's fitful flameThe force that else had brought them gold and fame."

Princess

"Didst thou not tell me of one who bought thy youthHow that his age hindered his pleasure in thee?Spite of his gold, gained without pity or ruthHis uncut emeralds and pearls of the sea.

"And what of him who headed the tribes last yearAgainst the Sultan? When he had lost the game,Blinded and burnt, and broken with pain and fear,Cared he then for the passing Mirage of Fame?"

Slave

"Truly, men gain not much for all their strife!"

Princess

"There are some chapters in the book of lifePages, whose print demands the morning light,That youth alone can understand aright.These I would read while time is with me stillLet after happenings be what they will.For this I hold, that when a woman liesWatching her beauty fire her lover's eyesWhile the lithe strength, she worshipped from afar,Melts in her arms and quivers on her breast,She knows the utmost sense of joy and restThat fate has given to this luckless starMen call the world.

"And though the dream may fade,Passing away, as sunshine into shade,Memories of its light will still assuageThe weariness that haunts the after age.

"So shall she see the fire in other's eyes,Hear the quick questions and the low replies,And these shall not disturb her inward rest,Since, in her spring she also knew the best.

"But those who let the days of youth drift by,Scorning to share a lover's ecstasy,They shall lament, when all their youth has flownMost bitterly, because they have not known.

"Ah, close the lattice, leave me to my dreams,Shut out the brightness of the morning beams,Let me return, to night where silence isAnd the worn beauty of that face of his."