MANDOLINE

(From the “Fêtes Galantes” of Paul Verlaine).

            THE singers of serenades
                  Whisper their faded vows
        Unto fair listening maids
            Under the singing boughs.

            Tircis, Aminte, are there,
                  Clitandre is over-long,
        And Damis for many a fair
            Tyrant makes many a song.

            Their short vests, silken and bright,
                 Their long, pale, silken trains,
        Their elegance of delight,
            Twine soft, blue, shadowy chains.

            And the mandolines and they,
                 Faintlier breathing, swoon
        Into the rose and grey
            Ecstasy of the moon.

                                           ARTHUR SYMONS.