The Worshipper of the Image

this time she never opened her eyes. The lashes still lay wet upon her cheeks, and when she spoke her lips seemed hardly to move, only to smile with a deeper meaning, an

begged to

ill die. Some day, Antony, you shall see my eyes. But not yet. You have mu

who saw your ey

all

ilencieux. Many lovers, and

s, long ago," ec

n very cruel,

y garrets have seemed richly furnished because of my face, and men with foodless lips have died blest because I was near them at the last. Sometimes I have kissed their lips and died with them, and the world has missed my face for a hundred unlovely years-for

your lovers,

rock into the sea. As she fell, the rose we had made together fell from her bosom, and was torn to pieces by the sea. Fishermen gathered here and there a petal flo

, Silencieux; you

love her

did love come n

d full of my lovers. I have forgotten none of them. They pass before me, a fair frieze of unforgotten faces; but most I loved a Roman poet, because, perhaps, he loved so well the me

overs, Silencieux,

then I took him to my bosom, and loved him on through the years, till his face had grown iron with many sorrows. Now at last, his baby-girl by

Antony. "Tell me of

d it since she of Mitylene. I found the giant sitting by a country stream, holding a daffodil in his mighty hands and whistling to the birds. He took and wore me like a flower. I was to him as a nightingale that sang from his sleeve, f

re all poets,

ve been the makers of beautiful things have loved me, I love my poets best. Sweeter

d you step down into the

ed, "to come to life again with you. Many lips have been pressed to mine, Antony, since the cold sleep of the Seine fell over me, but none were warm and wild like yours. I loved my sleep while the others kissed me, but with the touch of y

ords, Antony pressed his lips to hers in an ecstasy, a